


Death and Marriage

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: Different First Meeting, Confused Sherlock, Engagement, Explicit Sexual Content, Father's Death, Friendship, Inheritance, Kissing, Love, M/M, Naive Sherlock, Simple Plan - Freeform, Virginity, Visit to Sherlock's Mother, alterative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 67,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Sherlock needs to get married to please his father, annoy his brother, and get his inheritance. A brief conversation in a lift leads to an intriguing proposal, which leads to exactly what Sherlock did not know he needed.Thanks for your patience and your support! This is a bit of a slow burn, but we hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays!





	1. The Stipulation

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, we hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.

"What's happened?" Sherlock said as he rushed into the office. "I was just at the hospital this morning --"

"Sit down, Sherlock," Mycroft said impatiently. He was standing next to the desk of a man Sherlock didn't recognise.

Sherlock sat down stupidly. "Is he all right?" he asked quietly.

"Your father's condition has not changed," the man behind the desk said. "Except he is one day closer to death. As you well know."

"What's going on, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"As you know, Sherlock, our family is financially secure," Mycroft started. "I can only presume this is why you have chosen to refuse to grow up and earn your own living. However, the situation of inheritance is more complicated than you might know."

Sherlock sat still, willing his face not to flush. He was familiar with his brother's attempts to publicly embarrass him but in no way were they all right with him.

"Father will be dead within a week and his wishes will immediately be set into action," Mycroft continued. "Mother will stay in the house and be looked after -- she will want for nothing. He has also set aside a sizeable amount for his sons. However, there are a few things -- stipulations -- that must occur before we are able to access those funds."

Sherlock looked at the man and then at his brother. "What things?" he asked either of them.

"Your brother must be made the head of his department," the man said, speaking in a code Sherlock knew well.

"But he is the head of his department," Sherlock said.

Mycroft looked at his brother and smiled smugly.

"And me?" Sherlock asked. "What do I have to do?"

"Your father knows both of you boys are ambitious; however, he has worried that that ambition has caused you to ignore other aspects that are required for a full life," the man continued.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you will not get your inheritance until you get married," Mycroft said.

"Is that true?" Sherlock asked the man.

"Yes," the man said.

Sherlock stood up. "I'm going to see Father," he said.

"You needn't try to change his mind," the man said. "He thought long and hard about his decision -- he won't change his mind."

"I'm not going to try to change his mind," Sherlock said. "My father is dying and I'm going to be by his bedside." He opened the door and left, heading back to the hospital.

John made his way up to the hospital doors, already dreading the interview. It was his therapist Ella's idea, insisting that he get back out there again and try to grasp a bit of normal life. Civilian life. John rolled his eyes. He couldn't operate with the tremor in his arm, but at least that wasn't very visible. He could sit through most of an interview before the tremor came up. His leg though . . . walking in with a cane and a limp was doing nothing to help his chances. But it was already scheduled so he figured why not at least try. After this one, he had one more at a nearby surgery. Something had to pay off.

A tall, dark haired man in front of him opened the door and John tried to hurry to go in, but the man let it close. John grunted as he caught the weight of it and opened it for himself. The man was lost in his own world. John almost said something before reminding himself that if the man was visiting a hospital, his absentmindedness made sense -- there was no telling who he was visiting and what condition they were in. He stood back as he watched the man push the button and then he hit his button.

Sherlock leaned back against the wall of the lift. He was trying not to think about what had happened in that office. It was ridiculous -- he wasn't even sure he believed any of what had been said. And while he was acutely aware of the fact he had little money of his own, he couldn't worry about that now. His father was dying.

He glanced up at the numbers over the door. Then he looked at the man riding with him. Short, dressed nice, carrying a cane. "Are you a doctor?" he asked, surprising himself a little. His voice seemed louder than he'd intended in the small confined space.

John turned to face the man behind him. He nodded. "Yes, I am." Not a lie, really.

"I'm not," Sherlock said. "I'm not a patient either." He didn't know quite why he was speaking at all.

John's brows furrowed a bit and he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not. "A visitor, I assumed."

"I am," Sherlock said. "My father is dying."

John swallowed hard. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. He was used to dealing with family clinically but this felt different. Awkward heat bloomed in his chest.

The lift came to a stop and the doors opened. "Good luck," Sherlock told the man and stepped out. He stopped to have a word with the nurse who led him into his father's room.

John didn't have a chance to say anything before the man was gone and the doors were closing. He continued up in the elevator alone, his mind stuck on that man and his father.

Sherlock moved to the bed, waiting for the nurse to leave. He picked up his father's hand and said, "I'm here." He sat down in the chair and watched his father breathing.

John sat for his interview, but he saw the man's eyes glance at the cane and heard the way his questions were reserved and the emphasis was heavy every time he said "fast-paced." He'd already made up his mind about John. Another waste of time. John altered his answers and finished the interview quickly. He wanted to leave and get the next one over with.

On his way down he stopped on the floor the other man had got off on. He looked around but stayed close to the lift. He didn't know what he was doing.

"Can I help you?"

John looked up at the nurse and shook his head. "No, sorry. Wrong floor," he said. He got back onto the lift and left.

After a little while, Sherlock stood up. He moved to the window and looked out. He stared out at the sky. "I need a cigarette," he said. "I'll be back in a few moments." He took the stairs down, noticing a strange feeling in his chest, like he needed air. He rushed out the door and inhaled deeply. He moved to the smoking area and lit up. The smoke felt good in his lungs, a familiar sensation.

John made his way through the lobby and outside again. He paused, considering if he should take a cab or not. He checked his wallet and decided he would walk to the surgery.

Sherlock saw the doctor from the lift come out and look around, looking a bit lost. He stubbed out his cigarette and headed back in. "Hello again," he said as he passed the man.

"Hey --" John said and rubbed his neck awkwardly. He wanted to say something else, but didn't know what it was. "Sorry. Never mind," he said quickly, walking away toward his next interview.

Sherlock went inside and then turned and watched the doctor walk off. He took the stairs again and sat with his father for the rest of the afternoon.

When John woke up the next morning, it took him a minute to remember that he had a job now. He dragged himself out of bed and took a shower. When he got dressed, he attempted to leave his cane, as if the sudden normalcy of having work to do would make him forget the pain. But he wobbled and almost fell. He sighed and took his cane along.

The job was only part time, but it was better than nothing. He made his way in, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

Sherlock had stayed up most of the night, finally falling asleep on the sofa. He woke to a knock on his door. He knew who it'd be and he knew why he was here. He opened the door to his brother. "I need to shower," he said. "And then we can go."


	2. Death

Sherlock did not involve himself much in the details of planning the funeral. It was more important to him to be there for his mother and only engaged with it all when he was required. Besides he knew his brother loved being in charge of arrangements of any kind -- the fact that their father was dead would in no way change Mycroft's giddy pleasure in being in control. Mostly Sherlock stayed at the family home, helping his mother adapt to being alone.

When the day came, Sherlock made his mother tea and toast before getting showered and dressed. The car arrived early so the funeral director had time to go over the details and so his mother could say a private goodbye before people began arriving. Sherlock knew there'd be a crowd -- his father had been a well-liked and respected man. Many people would miss his presence in their lives, just as Sherlock already was.

It was, of course, a solemn but meaningful affair. Sherlock was offered condolences from people he hadn't seen in a long time and people he did not know. He could only take it all for so long before he wandered out behind the church to have a cigarette and escape into his head. Needless to say, this peace only lasted a few moments as his brother soon joined him.

"Don't be such a child," Mycroft said. "This is what being an adult feels like."

Sherlock glanced at him and then took a long drag, exhaling slowly. 

"A beautiful service," Mycroft mused, staring out into nothing. "The vicar was extremely professional -- I'd definitely recommend him."

"To whom?"

"To you," Mycroft said. "For your wedding."

Sherlock dropped his cigarette. "I won't be getting married," he said, shaking his head as he stepped on the butt with his shoe. "It's all . . ."

"Required," Mycroft cut him off. "We both know you're incapable of surviving much longer in that flat without a steady income. Mrs Hudson is generous but she's not stupid. I've offered you a job, but you've refused. Father's arrangements are precise and legal -- I'm afraid your only realistic option is to respect his wishes."

"I've always respected him," Sherlock said sharply. "Did you ever stop to think --" he interrupted himself to light another cigarette. "Perhaps he knew you were entirely unlovable so he didn't bother with you."

Mycroft was unmoved. "Father was well aware of our strengths," he said. "That is why he made the choices he did." He reached over for Sherlock's cigarette, inhaling and exhaling the smoke. "Besides, there was no mention of love anywhere in the document. Marriage -- that's all is required." He dropped the cigarette and went back inside.

Sherlock lit another and closed his eyes. He knew Mycroft was wrong. Sherlock knew his father better. He knew that love was precisely what this was about.


	3. Sherlock's Decision

As Sherlock began to settle into being fatherless, he turned his attention to rebuilding his website to attract more clients which would hopefully help his business grow. Mycroft wasn't wrong about Sherlock's income, but he was wrong about his potential. Sherlock Holmes was an excellent consulting detective -- he just had to make that clear to more people. His relationship with Scotland Yard was tentative -- Lestrade seemed capable but Donovan and Anderson were beyond help -- so he also worked on that. He could do this; he could make it work.

After a week of nothing, though, he found his father's wishes creeping into his brain. At first he just pushed them away, but he soon realised that was impossible. It wasn't that Sherlock was against love like Mycroft was; it was just that he knew nothing about it. It was something for other people -- it was completely inconsequential to him. He wished he could speak with his father now, just to explain and reassure him. But it was too late for that.

He thought more about what Mycroft had said -- about marriage, rather than love. Should he consider that? It was ridiculous and embarrassing. It wasn't even really about the money (although it would help); it was about the guilt. There was no way he could effectively work if he were constantly thinking about not meeting his father's expectations. He wished he had someone to talk to about this, but he only had his mother whom he refused to trouble during her grief. He felt trapped and could not think of how to get out.

John worked three days out of the week. On his off days, he browsed for other jobs online, he worked on his physical therapy, and he stared at his blank blog. He glanced at the pile of bills beside him, the bright red stamps of bills overdue leering at him.

One evening John started packing up his things, denying a request from Sarah to go out for a drink. She was nice enough, pretty even, but John was tired and he had a lot on his mind, hardly good company. He picked up some take away on the way home. As he was eating, he thought of the man in the lift and wondered how he was doing. He looked around his small flat and pushed the thought away. He had his own problems to worry about.

In the morning, he went to see Ella. She asked about work and jotted her notes as he spoke about it. It wasn't the same as trauma surgery. He was bored. He was still hurting. She kept telling him that it would take time but he was tired of hearing that. She changed the subject to his work but that only made him more irritable. She patiently took her notes and when John left, he had to remind himself that this had already helped him and that he shouldn't give up on their meetings just yet. He made his way home slowly.

At Baker Street, Mycroft was standing at Sherlock's door. "Well, invite me in," he said impatiently. Sherlock stepped to the side and Mycroft entered. "I was just having a word with Mrs Hudson," he said casually. "Seems it's been a few months since she's seen a cheque from you . . ."

"Leave me alone," Sherlock said childishly.

"Have you given more thought to your predicament?" Mycroft asked.

"What predicament?" Sherlock asked and then gave up the facade. "No."

Mycroft strolled over to the desk. "So if I were to open this laptop and check your browsing history, I'd see no dating websites listed?" he asked, fingering the edge of the computer.

"Don't --" Sherlock called. Which was stupid. He knew his response revealed the truth and besides he also knew he always deleted his history. How did his brother always manage to bring out the worst in him?

"The thing is, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "I'm bored of taking care of you. That's not the job of a grown brother -- it's the job of a life partner. Go find yourself one and become someone else's problem."

"Fuck off," Sherlock said. He moved to the door and opened it. As soon as Mycroft was gone, Sherlock rushed to his computer. Of course, his browsing history was empty.

He wasn't going to find someone to marry him online. There were plenty of ads from volunteers, of course, but at best they were fake, at worst they were involved in very dodgy dealings. He needed someone he could trust or at least attempt to. His father hadn't wanted Sherlock to be alone: he would have to find someone who'd be willing to live here without actually disrupting his life. They'd get married, he wouldn't technically be alone, and then this whole mess would be sorted.

He got up, made himself a cup of tea, and lay down on the sofa, remembering every face he'd seen over the last few months. And then he found the face he needed. He got up, tipped away his tea, and started making some phone calls. When he found the name and place he was looking for, he made his way over, knocking loudly at the door.

John was heating up leftovers when he heard the knock at the door. His brow furrowed as he looked over. Who would be visiting him here? He went to the door and looked through the peephole. "What the . . .?" he mumbled pulling open the door. He was looking up at the man from the hospital, from the lift. "Um . . . hello," he said slowly.

Sherlock looked up at the man, who was quite handsome, more handsome than he'd recalled. "Hello," he said. "I'd like to speak to you. Do you mind if I come in?"

"I -- how did you find me?" John asked, even as he moved aside to let Sherlock in.

"I'm a detective," Sherlock said. "And my father was powerful. People give answers to detectives with powerful fathers." He looked around the small bedsit. "You live alone?"

John watched Sherlock looking around his flat. He cleared his throat softly, his brain snagging on the word 'was'. He swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Perhaps we should have a proper introduction," Sherlock said. He held out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

John looked at his hand and then shook his head. "I have a feeling you already know who I am," he said.

"I do," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry you didn't get the post at the hospital, but I understand you've secured some part time work, correct?"

John blinked over at him. "What? How do you know all of that?"

"Research," Sherlock said plainly. "As I said, I'm a detective. It's all been legitimate -- I've not gone through your bins or anything," he added with a smile.

John looked away and finally shut the door. "Right. And . . . why the research on me?" he asked.

"I've got a business proposition and was looking for a partner," Sherlock said. "I thought you might be the right person."

John tilted his head. "A business proposition? Do you need a doctor for the mob or something?" He was half smiling, unsure what to think about all of this.

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "It's unusual, I appreciate, but it is entirely legal, I can assure you." He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to John. "Here's all my information. You can do your own investigation if you'd like. However, the risk is minimal and the pay off great." He looked around the room again. "What's the heating like in this place?" he asked.

"Um, it's fine, no complaints," John said, even though it was obviously too cold. "What pay off?"

Sherlock thought carefully -- he needed to explain this properly or this man would stop listening entirely. "There's a financial reward," he said. "Without any financial investment. And it's guaranteed -- so you can see why I'd need to know a little bit about my business partner."

"Sorry, this just sounds really suspicious. Could you just stop being vague and explain what you want me to do?"

"I'm looking for a flatmate," Sherlock said.

"A flatmate?" he asked. "Is that why you're asking about the heat? There's only one bedroom here."

"No, sorry," Sherlock said. "I've got the flat, I just need the mate."

John's brows raised lightly. "I see," he said. "And why are you asking me?"

"Because you seem responsible and private and --" Sherlock glanced around the flat, "-- in need. What about it?"

"In need?" John asked. "Wait -- you said something about a payoff? Is that still about the flatmate deal?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "You will not need to pay rent and eventually I can offer you as a cash settlement as long as you agree to stay . . ." Sherlock knew he couldn't really say forever so he instead he went for, ". . .indefinitely."

"Indefinitely?" John asked. "This seems a bit too good to be true," he admitted.

Sherlock moved over to the window. "Have you ever been married, Doctor Watson?" he asked as he gazed out.

"Uh, no, I haven't," John said. This was moving up to the strangest conversation he'd ever been a part of.

"Neither have I," Sherlock said. "I've never had much interest in all that business . . . but I've recently seen some advantages . . . companionship, security, someone to make tea. . . "

John nodded, waiting for more. When nothing came John cleared his throat again. "Right, well, it certainly has advantages."

"It's a contract, after all," Sherlock said. "A kind of business arrangement, one could even say."

John blinked at him. "Are -- are you proposing?"

"As I said, it's more of a proposition than a proposal," Sherlock explained. "But it is legal and will be lucrative. And my flat has an open fire."

"You're going to pay me to . . . to marry you?" John asked.

"Well, I wouldn't word it like that," Sherlock said. "But yes."

John watched him for a second before laughing and shaking his head. "Right, very funny. Look, I don't know what you came here for but if you'd just get to the point that would be great."

"That is the point," Sherlock said. "I need to be married. It is a requirement of my inheritance. I won't lie -- I don't make much money and the cash would help me to live while I properly start my business. But it was also . . . something my father wanted and my brother is harassing me and it would be easier on many levels to just get it over with. You're under no obligation to view this in anything but an entirely professional way -- I just need your signature on a marriage certificate. For that signature, I am offering you your own bedroom in a nice flat and a sizeable payout after a reasonable time period -- I don't know, six months, a year? -- we can work out the details. It's an unusual proposition, I acknowledge, but I am an unusual man and this is an unusual situation. You seem safe and responsible and likeable enough. I will try to be those things as well." He turned and stepped towards the door. "You do not have to answer now. You have my card -- feel free to contact me at any time with questions or further details. Just . . . will you consider it?"

John looked down at the card, still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. "I...yeah, I'll consider it," he said. He looked up at Sherlock and waited for him to admit this was all an elaborate prank. But Sherlock only looked satisfied with his answer.

"Goodbye then, Doctor John Watson," Sherlock said and headed home to Baker Street. The problem was far from solved but at least he'd made a start.

John watched the man leave. He locked the door and looked down at his card again. Something more had to be going on. He went to his desk and took out his laptop, typing in Sherlock's name in the search engine. The first thing that came up was a website, a scientific site with facts and experiments posted, along with various articles about other experiments and projects. John opened a new tab and kept looking. He found the obituary of Sherlock's father. John researched him as well and saw that the Holmes family was indeed very wealthy.

He flushed lightly for being worried about that, but Sherlock had mentioned a pay off and he was just curious as to how much money they were talking about. But that made it even more insane. Pretending to be married to someone? What would that include? He had said simply a signature would do, but they would still have to keep up appearances. If the marriage was a requirement for the money, then someone was holding on to it and that person would have to believe this was real.

John shook his head and closed out of all the pages. No. It was simply too weird. He left Sherlock's card on the desk and went to get ready for bed.


	4. John's Decision

Over the next few days John's mind was stuck on the deal, turning it over and going back and forth with various pros and cons. He added Sherlock's number to his phone but never used it. He researched Sherlock to try to find the address and figure out where the flat was, but it wasn't on his website. At the end of the week, John's post brought another batch of envelopes with bright red stamps: final notice. As he made his way up the steps, he was cornered by the landlord, demanding the rent for the month. John promised it and pushed past the man to get into his flat. He leaned against the door and looked over at Sherlock's business card, still sitting beside his laptop.  
  
He sat down on his bed and took out his phone.  
  
_I have a few questions. -JW_

Sherlock had just returned from a case when the text came through. Well, not really a case, not officially. He'd been helping Molly out at the morgue, and he had solved a problem for her. It was quite clever actually -- Molly had said that word -- but no money came from it. He had less money in his pocket when he got home than he had when he left. Perhaps Doctor Watson would help.

_Would you to like to come to mine so I can answer them? SH_

John considered the message. He hadn't expected that, but at least that would give him a chance to see where he would be living if he accepted.

_Sure, that works. -JW_

_Good. 221B Baker Street. When should I expect you? SH_

_I can come tomorrow morning. -JW_

_I look forward to it. Around 9? SH_

_Yeah, I can be there. -JW_

_See you then. SH_

Sherlock lifted his head and looked around the flat. He was smiling.

John went back to his desk and pulled a pad of paper closer, writing down his questions so he could keep them organised.

Sherlock got up and began tidying. Obviously he wouldn't benefit from completely hiding his lifestyle from this man, but there was no harm in having the place look nice. He gave everything a good clean and opened in the windows to air it out. That evening he went to the shop and got a few things, including a large bouquet of flowers for the table.

In the morning John went to Sherlock's flat. He studied the area and the outside of it. It was in a prime spot, with plenty of shops nearby. He climbed up to the door and knocked loudly. He made sure his list was still in his pocket.

Sherlock realised he felt a bit sick as he waited for Doctor Watson's arrival. He cursed his brother and then felt guilty about his father. When he heard the door, he went down to answer.

"Hello," he said in a way that he meant to sound friendly but came out somewhat awkwardly. "You found the place. Come upstairs. The flat is upstairs." He stepped to the side and then followed him up.

John glanced at the steps and, wishing Sherlock had gone ahead, he climbed up slowly. He walked into the flat itself and looked around. There was a lot to take in. It was clean but far from tidy. It looked like everything had just been pushed to the edges of the room -- boxes of newspapers, envelopes, beakers and tubes, even books that didn't quite fit on the shelves. He turned and looked into the kitchen. The flowers surprised him. He looked back at Sherlock and smiled. "It's nice," he said.

"It is," Sherlock said. "Very spacious, comfortable. . ." He felt he was leaning towards estate agent territory, but in a way, he was trying to sell the place. "Let me show you your room and then I'll make us some tea," he said as he headed up the steps.

More stairs. John followed Sherlock up to the second bedroom. It was larger than his own now, with a bigger bed. It was much tidier than the rest of the flat, a bit dusty, but a nice room. "This is good," he said

"It is," Sherlock said again. "Okay, fine, let's go back down and then we can have a talk." He rushed into the kitchen, turning on the still hot kettle he'd been boiling over and over for the last half hour. He poured two cups and brought them into the living room. "Sorry, I don't have sugar," he explained handing one to John. "But we can get some if you take it . . . if you live here, I mean."

"I just take milk," John said. He sat in the red chair and leaned his cane on the arm before taking the mug from Sherlock. He also took out his little list of questions. "So. How involved will this have to be, exactly?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, you'll live here but you don't have to be 'involved' in anything. Like flatmates, except you don't have to pay rent."

"I mean who exactly do we have to convince? Will it be a big wedding? Will we have to go out on pretend dates? Will there be someone coming around and questioning why I'm not sleeping in your bed?"

"I -- um, no, I don't know," Sherlock said, suddenly a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing. "I mean, no, obviously you won't be sleeping in my bed, it's my bed," he added stupidly. He took a sip of tea and tried to organise things in his head. "No, it won't be a big wedding," he said when the answer to the question came to him. "I . . . I guess I don't know for certain the answers to the other questions. . . "

"I'm just wondering -- whoever is holding onto this money you're getting, they'll want proof, won't they? Will a signature be enough?"

"Right, of course, they will want proof," Sherlock said, picturing Mycroft's face in his head. "I thought the wedding might be enough, but . . . I will have to find out. I should have got that information earlier." He heard his voice turn slightly odd -- it was a mix of sudden confusion and embarrassment. He had assumed his mother would be satisfied with just meeting and liking whomever he married and for some reason, he did kind of like this Doctor Watson. He had assumed his father's lawyer would just need the documentation. But what would Mycroft need?

"I can get in touch with the relevant parties on those details but I can definitely assure you that there will be no…intimacy required. Are there other questions you have?"

John looked down at his list. "Are you considering anyone else?" John asked.

Sherlock thought carefully about what would be the best answer. He decided to go for the truth. "No," he said.

"What happens if we're caught?" He asked.

"We won't be," Sherlock said plainly.

"Right, but if we are?" John insisted. "It's important to be prepared for anything."

"I appreciate I've yet to give this impression, but usually I am prepared for anything," Sherlock said. "Anything. I will not let you sign any papers until I can guarantee that to be true."

John considered for a long moment before nodding. "Is there any chance I'll have to pay the amount of rent I've not paid the whole time we're living together?"

"No -- that I can guarantee," Sherlock said. "It becomes official when I know I can afford to honour my part of the deal, which includes paying all rent."

John considered him again. It still seemed too good to be true. "So . . . we just live together and . . . and that's it. After a time, we divorce and go our separate ways with the money?"

"You're already thinking of divorce?" Sherlock asked, trying to smile a little to lighten the mood. "That's a bit hurtful . . ."

John's brows raised slightly. "You mentioned it first -- a quickie divorce, I believe you said."

"Well again, I will need to check any time constraints, but yes, at some point, that can happen," Sherlock said. "And you will receive a payment. Again, I can give you specifics when I have them."  
  
John nodded slowly. "Right," he said. He shifted in the chair and, hoping Sherlock had a sense of humour, he carefully dropped onto his knees in front of Sherlock. "Will you marry me?" he asked, gazing up at Sherlock.

Sherlock watched him move and had a second of panic -- surely he had made his point about no romance clear? But then he saw the look on John's face so he leaned down and said, "Yes, as long as you promise to sometimes make the tea. Thus far I've been the only one responsible for the task and that's unacceptable in the long term." He gave him a tentative smile.

John smiled properly and, as gracefully as he could, pushed himself up again, moving back into the chair. "So when do we do this?" he asked.

"I'll get in touch with the relevant people for the details -- honestly, we do both need to be fully aware of what we're getting ourselves into, so nothing happens until we do," Sherlock said. "Once we know, I'd like to do it as soon as possible…if that's all right with you."

John nodded. "I work part time, I have plenty of free time."

"Good," Sherlock said and then smiled. "So let me think of other things I should tell you . . ." he said as he went to top up their tea. He talked about the flat and the area, told John a bit about Mrs Hudson. He tried to give John a relatively accurate portrayal of his daily life -- he did believe flatmates should know the worst about each other but at the same time, he didn't want to scare him off. After a short while, he noticed the time and said, "Have you eaten? Do you want to go get some food?"

"Food? Uh, yeah, sure," he said. Sherlock had been talking for a while about his life and John figured dinner would be a good chance for John to tell him about his own life. He knew they would need these details to convince anyone trying to catch on to their game.

"Fine," Sherlock said, standing up. "You choose. . . I'm not much into food."

"Oh. Well, I'm not very familiar with this area. We don't have to go for food," he said.

"No," Sherlock said abruptly. "Let me take you to dinner."

John looked over at him a bit surprised and nodded. "I'm not picky, really."

"Let's go to a place I know," Sherlock said, grabbing his coat. "Italian all right?"

John nodded, following Sherlock. "My favourite, actually. I suppose at dinner I'll tell you more about me."

"I would very much like that," Sherlock said, smiling before heading out to the kerb to hail a cab.

John climbed in after Sherlock and started making a list in his head of what he should share and what he should keep to himself. Sherlock was a stranger after all, for now anyway.

Once they arrived, Sherlock held the door for John as he went in, but then moved quickly to sit at the front table with a sign marked Reserved. He smiled as Angelo came over, patting him on the arm and glancing over at John before moving a candle to their table. "It’s more romantic," Angelo said with a smile.

"No, it's not--" Sherlock started and then stopped. If they were really going to be getting married soon, there wasn't much point in arguing. "Thank you," he said instead before ordering a bottle of wine.

John was surprised Sherlock accepted the candle. It seemed like a small thing, but the gesture bothered John. Did he think this was a date? A real one? They hadn't even officially started the charade yet. He cleared his throat softly and picked up the menu.

"Get whatever you want," Sherlock said. "He doesn't charge me."

"How come?" John asked, glancing over as he browsed the menu.

"I got him off a murder charge," Sherlock explained. "Of course, he couldn't pay me, so free meals, I suppose, are my reward."  
  
"Oh right, the cases," John nodded. They ordered and, while they waited for their food, John told Sherlock about the military and his injury, his career as a surgeon being ruined and what he was doing now. He left out his family stuff, his drunk sister and her wild affairs. They would never know about this or even meet Sherlock, so he didn't think he needed to share all of that.

When they got their food John ate slowly. It was good, and he told Sherlock as much.

Sherlock had been right -- Doctor John Watson was indeed an interesting man. He found himself strangely relaxed in his presence as he listened to him speak. He caught himself wondering if perhaps they could spend more time talking -- he imagined John might have some insight that'd be useful on cases -- before remembering that if all went to his own plan, they'd soon be legally married and living in the same flat. For a second the utter stupidity of the plan flashed in his mind before he realised that the real problem was the situation his father (and brother) had put him in. He finished off his glass of wine.

"So you have my number now. You'll let me know the plan? Am I moving in first or are we getting married first?" John asked, finishing his own glass of wine.

"Move in, I think," Sherlock said. "That's the modern way, isn't it?" he added with his smile. Then he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Hmm, speak of the devil," he mumbled before answering it.

"Where are you?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock glanced at John. "On a date," he said.

"Very funny," Mycroft said.

"It isn't," Sherlock said. "Romantic is a better word."

Mycroft sighed. "What on earth are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Honoring my father's wishes," Sherlock said. "And falling in love. Which reminds me -- I'll be needing to sign some papers soon, I think. Should I just arrange that directly with the solicitor?"

"You are an embarrassment," Mycroft said and rang off.

"That was your soon-to-be brother-in-law," Sherlock explained to John.

"Pleasant," John said, having heard a muffled version of the conversation on the other end of the call.

"You'll have to deal with him at some point," Sherlock said. "He's a problem and he's going to become our problem. I just want you to know that -- being married to me won't be wine and candles all the time."

"I was able to handle a literal war. I think I can handle your brother," John smiled.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "We'll see," he said, glancing over at Angelo who came rushing over.

"Can I get you two anything else?" he asked.

"No, I think we're good," Sherlock said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

"Sherlock, no," Angelo said, shaking his head. "It's on the house. I hope you gentlemen return soon," he added looking at John.

John smiled up at the man and wondered if he should do something like hold Sherlock's hand, but they hadn't actually started yet and he was worried Sherlock was already blurring the lines. He stood when the man walked off with the dishes, putting his coat on and leading the way out. 

Sherlock stood up and they headed out to the street where Sherlock raised his hand to catch a cab. "I'm nearer but I'm happy to pay for the remainder of your ride," he said, holding the door open for John.

"You don't have to do that," John said. He climbed into the cab. When Sherlock got in, John noticed a stain on the seat by his window that still looked a bit wet. He wrinkled his nose and scooted to the middle, bumping closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced over and then leaned forward to give the driver his address. He sat back, leaning a bit closer to the door. The ride was pretty short and when they got to Baker Street, Sherlock paid the driver and then awkwardly put out his hand toward John.

"Well, I look forward to working with you, Doctor Watson," he said. "I'll get that information we discussed."

John shook his hand and nodded. "Yes, I'll keep an eye out for it." He smiled. He didn't know how to end something like this. It was certainly a unique situation.

"All right then," Sherlock said, giving him a wink. He got out and let himself into the flat.

"Where have you been?" Mrs Hudson said as she came out of her door.

"Nowhere," he said.

"You've got company," Mrs Hudson said glancing up the stairs and then rolling her eyes.

"You shouldn't have let him in," he said.

"I didn't," she said and shut her door.

"Mycroft," Sherlock stated as he opened the door and hung up his coat.  
  
Mycroft was sitting on the sofa with a glass of whiskey. "I was hoping to meet your date," he said.

"I'm sure you were," Sherlock said, moving over to pour himself a glass. He sat down, lit a cigarette and then threw the pack to Mycroft, who also lit one.

"You're going to marry a complete stranger just to get your hands on Father's money?"

"He's not a complete stranger," Sherlock said. "He's quite likeable actually."

"And likeable equals marry-able?" Mycroft said.

"As if you know what either means," Sherlock said.

"Fair point," Mycroft said. "But, of course, both are irrelevant to me since I've already received my inheritance."

"And soon I'll receive mine," Sherlock said. "And you'll no longer be needed in my life."

Mycroft smiled. "Oh, you'll always need me in your life, brother," he said. "Which is convenient since I'll always be around. However, I would prefer to no longer be financially responsible for you. Yet . . ."

"Yet what?"

"Yet I do not want to see you make a poor decision," Mycroft said. "Perhaps you should hold off on any wedding plans until I get to know this man a little better."

"You're not marrying him -- I am."

"So you say," Mycroft said. "Still, surely my blessing matters . . ."

"What matters are the answers to a few questions I have," Sherlock said.

Mycroft took a sip of whiskey and waited.

"We are both quite . . . private people, how public do we need to be about our marriage? And if something were to go wrong --"  
  
"Something's wrong already?" Mycroft interrupted. "Oh dear . . ."

"No, nothing's wrong -- we're in love," Sherlock said awkwardly. "But logic stands that since 42 percent of marriages end in divorce, I just wondered what the consequences would be . . ."

"You mean besides a broken heart?"

Sherlock ignored the remark.

"Brother, if you can honestly make a marriage work for even a week, I'll be surprised," Mycroft said. "Still, as I said, don't do anything until I meet this man. The Holmes family name is nothing to be played with."

Sherlock finished his drink and cigarette. "Fine," he said. "I'm sure we can arrange a meeting."

"And once you're married, he'll live here with you?"  
  
"Of course."

"And you're absolutely sure he knows you?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock stood up. "I think you've been here long enough," he said.

Mycroft downed his drink, gave Sherlock a look, and then moved to the door and left.

Sherlock poured himself another drink and smoked one more cigarette. Then he got up, shut off all the lights and lay down on the sofa. He picked up his phone.

_Wedding is only proof needed. Though you will need to meet my brother before it happens. SH_

_How soon? -JW_

John wasn't sure if he was ready for an interrogation.

_Once you've settled in. I'll debrief you. You survived a war don't forget. You'll do fine. SH_

He wasn't entirely sure that was true, but what he'd learned of John so far, he had a feeling the doctor would be able to handle his brother.

_Okay. Well, I'll see you in a couple days, then. -JW_

_The sooner the better. SH_

Sherlock sat up and looked towards the spare room.

_You've not changed your mind, have you? SH_

_No, of course I haven't. -JW_

_I've not either. I'm pleased with my choice. I hope that doesn't sound too romantic. SH_

_It's okay to be pleased with a business partners. A flat mate. You don't want to share your space with someone you don't approve of. -JW_

Sherlock lay back down again.

_Anything in your life you think I might not approve of? SH_

John thought about the things he'd avoided telling Sherlock and hoped he could get through this keeping it that way.

_Not that I can think of. How about you? -JW_

_You know all relevant info currently affecting my life. Except I occasionally play violin at odd hours. Perhaps you should know that. I'll buy you earplugs. SH_

_I didn't know you played. That's good to know. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment.

_And I smoke in the flat. But not in your room. SH_

_Maybe just in your room? Or by a window? -JW_

_Fine. Also I've killed a man. SH_

_Spouses can't testify against each other so that's fine. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment. Odd, but true -- this man would soon be his spouse.

_I just wanted to downplay the other confessions. SH_

_You've got more? -JW_

_Let's leave it at the violin and cigarettes for now. You'll let me know when you're ready to move in, yes? SH_

_What about the day after tomorrow_ _? -JW_

_That works. I'll speak to you then. Good night, John. SH_

_Good night, Sherlock. -JW_

John plugged his phone in and got ready for bed. A lot of strange things were happening and it was so much to think about that, for the first time in a long while, he slept without nightmares.

Sherlock lay on the sofa for a little while longer then he sat up, finished his drink and went to bed.


	5. Moving In

When John woke up the next morning he felt oddly refreshed, a lot more than he had been lately. He went to work in a very good mood, treating extra patients and not even minding their long winded stories as much as he usually did. When he got home he continued packing his things. 

_Would you mind helping me move my things? -JW_

Sherlock was sleeping when John's text came through. He stayed up most of the night, thinking. He rolled over and tried to estimate the time before checking his phone. He was three hours off.

_Now? SH_

He rubbed his eyes for a minute and then realised that had been a bit of a stupid question. He quickly sent another text.

_Sorry. Yes. When? SH_

_No, tomorrow when I'm off. -JW_

_When tomorrow? You're moving in tomorrow? SH_

_Yeah, remember? -JW_

Sherlock moved to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Then he lit a cigarette. The first drag cleared his head.

_Yes, I remember. What time tomorrow, please? SH_

_I suppose the earlier the better. Maybe around 9? -JW_

Sherlock took a long sip of tea and then looked around the flat.

_That sounds good. I'm looking forward to seeing you. To getting this started. SH_

John smiled at the message, even as his head tilted a bit. Sherlock was a bit odd, but he liked it. 

_Me too. See you then. -JW_

_What should I do to prepare? SH_

_Nothing, I don't think. The bedroom was already empty, right? -JW_

Sherlock wasn't sure why John was so interested in his bedroom, until he realised he meant the spare room. 

_Yes. I have bedsheets. SH_

_I just meant that, with an empty room, my stuff will be easy to move in. There's nothing to prepare. -JW_

Sherlock finished his cigarette and then his tea. He turned on the kettle for another cup and took it over to his desk. He was feeling anxious -- he presumed it was just because of the change, since he wasn't always good with change, so he closed his eyes and tried to imagine how it'd be with John living here. Surely if they just stayed out of each other's way, it wouldn't have to be all that different, would it?

He picked up his phone again and re-read the texts between them.

_Come to the flat tomorrow, bringing what you can. We'll take a taxi back and get the rest. I can hire a car if you prefer. Everything will be fine. SH_

_Okay. Thank you, Sherlock. -JW_

John went over everything he had packed and tried to condense everything to make it easier for fewer trips. 

Sherlock finished his tea and checked his email. Then he got up and got to work on the flat, cleaning it as best he could and properly putting some of things away to give John some space in the sitting room. He went up the spare room and cleaned up in there as well. He found the bedsheets and made up the bed and then sat down on it, looking around the space. It was a perfectly fine room, but, for some reason, he really wanted to John to like it. He knew it was a bit daft -- this was just sharing a flat and ultimately the only thing that mattered was that neither of them irritated the other. But he knew he was also thinking about something else -- he wanted John to like living here. Maybe even like Sherlock as well.

In the morning John started to carry his suitcase down, along with a bag over his shoulder. He leaned on the suitcase instead of his cane so he could carry a box under his arm as well. As soon as he got into the taxi, he texted Sherlock to let him know he was on his way.

Sherlock had already showered and was drinking his third cup of tea when John's text arrived. He waited a while and then went downstairs to meet him. When he saw the taxi pull up, he was filled with a mix of excitement and panic.

John saw Sherlock on the pavement when the cab pulled up. "I hope you weren't waiting out here long," he said, taking his things from the boot and heading for the flat.

"No," Sherlock said, reaching in to grab a bag. "I wanted to help."

John held the suitcase and the box as he followed Sherlock up the steps. "I appreciate that," he said.

Sherlock took the bag up to the spare room and set it down. "You can rearrange in here if you want," he said. "And you can bring some things downstairs as well. It's up to you. This is your flat too now."

"Okay," John nodded. "There's only a few more boxes, there's not much."

"Should we go now so you're all sorted?" Sherlock asked. "I can pay for the taxi back."

"Okay," he said. "I'd like to get the move over with."

Sherlock went down and grabbed his coat. He waited for John and then headed out. "We'll need to get you keys," he said. "Later I'll introduce you to the landlady." He lifted his hand for a cab. "She's going to love you actually," he added with a smile.

"You'll introduce me as your fiancé, I assume?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced over. "I suppose I should," he said. He didn't say anything else. It was one thing talking to his brother, but this felt different. More real. 

When they got to John's, they loaded themselves up with the rest of the things and made their way to the door. "Did you like living here?" Sherlock asked before they left.

John shrugged. "It served its purpose, I suppose. It wasn't the best," he said. "Why?"

"Just curious," Sherlock said. "I hope Baker Street will serve its purpose for you as well."

John smiled. "I think it'll be better," he said. "I haven't had a flatmate in a long time, but it's in a really good location and it's closer to work."

They rode back to the flat, carrying John's things upstairs. Sherlock sat down on the bed but then quickly stood up. "I'll put some tea on," he said. "I bought some food as well, but I didn't really know what to get."

"I'm sure whatever you got is fine," John said. "Do you cook?"

"No, I don't know, I mean, I've never really tried, I suppose," Sherlock said. "Is that what you want -- for me to cook for you?"

"No! I just wondered," John said. "I can, a little bit."

"I'm not expecting you to cook for me," Sherlock said. "I don't-- I'm not expecting you to do anything for me, I guess."

"Well, we have to eat, don't we? We'll figure it out," John said. He didn't know how to act. How would they act in the flat? Like friends or strangers? It wouldn't be wrong to interact a bit, they lived together after all.

"Are you hungry now? I -- or one of us -- could make something," Sherlock suggested. 

"Uh, yeah. I haven't had breakfast yet," John said.

"I got eggs," Sherlock said eagerly. "You can . . . do whatever you want with them."

John smiled. "Okay. Do you want some too?"

"No," Sherlock said. "Possibly." He sat down on the chair. "Do you want to unpack first?"

"No, I have all day to do that," he said. "Let's have breakfast."

Sherlock stood up and moved into the kitchen. "Should I do something?" he asked, clicking the kettle back on.

"No, it's okay. It won't take me long," John said, slowly moving around the kitchen to find what he needed.

"So do you cook like this every day?" Sherlock asked, trying to imagine it happening in the flat on a regular basis.

"I used to more often," John said. In truth, he'd lost his appetite since the accident and his struggles to deal with it. 

"I see," Sherlock said, sensing there was more to the explanation. "Well, I've never cooked because I've never been much interested in eating. I have no idea why I'm that way, but you are welcome to try to figure it out, if you'd like, as surely it goes against everything you were taught as a doctor."

"Why don't we just start with breakfast?" John smiled. He fried three eggs, two for himself and one for Sherlock. He made them each two pieces of toast and brought it all to the table.

Sherlock tore off some of the toast and popped it into his mouth before scooping in some egg. "It's good. Thanks," he said.

"Yeah, no problem," he said. "You're my husband after all."

Sherlock looked up. "Right," he said. "Well . . . soon." He took another bite. "How come you've never been married for real?"

"I was rather young when I went into the army. I just figured there would be time later," John shrugged.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "That doesn't seem like a very romantic thing to say to your future husband. Surely you meant to say you never dreamed of it until you met me." He smiled as he took a sip of tea.

"Right, of course," he grinned.

"Are you normally the romantic type? I mean in normal situations," Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I think so," John said. "You?"

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. "I've never been in a situation where it would be called for, I suppose."

"You've never been in a relationship?" He asked, failing to hide his surprise.

Sherlock looked up quickly. "Um, well, yes," he started. "Well, I suppose, not really. I think that's why my father was so keen and wanted me to do all this, if I'm honest." He motioned between the two of them.

"That's . . . hmm," John trailed off. He didn't really know what to say. "You didn't want to?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I prefer my work," he said. "That business always just seemed like a distraction."

"Oh, I see," John said. Even though he really didn't. "Well, to each his own, I suppose."

Suddenly something occurred to Sherlock. "Will you be able to give up your search, you know, while this is going on?" he asked. "I mean, it's not my business obviously but it might complicate things . . ."

"My search?" John asked, looking up at him.

"You know, for romance," Sherlock said. "You're not in the army now so I presumed you'd be looking . . ."

"Oh, no. I mean, things have been . . . it's not been a priority," John said. Of course, he'd thought about it and Ella had been encouraging him to be more social. But he wasn't ready. Not while he was still relying so much on his cane. "Besides, I could never explain our situation, you know?"

"It's supposed to be believable, you know," Sherlock said a bit grumpily. "I mean it wouldn't be that hard to explain, would it? I'm not that unattractive, am I?"

"What?" John asked, confused. "I just meant if I were to try to properly date on the side, I couldn't just tell them I was married to someone to help them get some money! That's odd, they'd be put off," John explained.

"Oh right," Sherlock said. "I see what you mean -- sorry I got the wrong end of the stick." He finished his food and tea. "If you were going to be properly dating . . . would those be dates of the male or female persuasion?"

"It depends who strikes my fancy," he said. 

"Interesting," Sherlock said under his breath. "Okay, I think we've covered the romance topic. What about spare time -- what are your leisure activities?'

"I like reading, keeping up my exercise, watching movies," he said. "Nothing exciting."

"Yes, that all sounds quite boring," Sherlock said. "Except the reading. What kinds of things do you like to read? You're welcome to read any of my books . . . you know, what's mine is yours, right?"

"Mystery or adventure novels. Sometimes scientific or medical articles if they catch my interest. Speaking of, I browsed through your website," he said.

"It's not for browsing through," Sherlock said. "It's for reading. Did you learn anything?"

John made a face, half guilty and half trying not to laugh. "No. I didn't actually . . . you know, really read it."

"Hurtful," Sherlock mumbled. "Well, then I take back my offer regarding my books -- I'm sure you'll find most of them as boring as my website." He looked over. "In fact, the whole 'what's mine is yours' -- that's not going to happen, right?"

"I didn't mean I was bored," John said. "At the time I was more interested in learning about you."

"That's fine. You're not the first one to call it boring," Sherlock said, leaning forward a little in his chair. "But about the other thing -- there will still be privacy here, right? I won't find you going through the things in my room or something like that?"

"What? No, of course not," John said. "I mean, of course there will be privacy. We won't be going through each other's things or anything. The thing is I don't really know how to act. I mean, we're strangers really, aren't we? But now that we're living together, we can at least be friends, right?"

Sherlock looked over at John's face. "I'll be honest with you," he said softly. "I rarely know how to act even in totally normal situations. And this is not one of those. I don't want to make this any more complicated, but how do we 'be friends'?"

"I don't know. I mean, it's okay to have meals together and watch the telly together and even . . . hang out. Like outside of the flat, you know? I know we have to pretend to be married in front of people, but that doesn't mean we have to close ourselves in our rooms and keep silent when we're at home, you know? That's awkward."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Sometimes I like keeping silent, I guess," he said. "But you're right. We don't have to be closed off like that all the time. It's just I don't really know how to be friends with people -- in any situation. I've just never really done that. But I'll try those things . . . 'hanging out' and whatnot." He looked over. "I'm sorry I'm how I am, but I suppose it gives you a little insight into how I got myself into this situation."

"Were you close to your dad?" John asked. 

Sherlock stood up, carrying the plates to the sink and making more tea. "Yes, I guess I was," he said wistfully. "We have an unusual family, but yes, he meant a lot to me." He brought a pot of tea to the table. "I love my mother but it's different, of course, and my brother…is a nightmare."

John nodded. "I guess I just wondered why your dad made this condition, you know? Had he mentioned this before to you?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. He'd never really talked to anyone about these kinds of things before. Why was he even tempted to with this man? He couldn't deny, though, that he felt comfortable. "He had, but I guess I didn't realise it at the time," he admitted. "I can remember little comments . . . just things about my mother and even a friend he had from the Army . . . I think he was trying to tell me that companionship was important, but I suppose I focused more on his other lessons about knowledge and work. Those felt easier to understand. . ."

John watched Sherlock for a long moment. It seemed like a sad situation, being forced into this by someone who wouldn't even be around to see Sherlock be happy. Or what he thought would make Sherlock feel happy. Did Sherlock feel guilty for this ruse? John didn't feel comfortable asking. "Well, even when this is over, we will stay friends. I hope, anyway. So your dad's wish will come true regardless." He looked down at the table and picked at a spot. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. 

Sherlock glanced over. "Yes, hopefully," he said. "But you're not obliged -- maybe you should get to know me better before you make any kind of commitment." He laughed a little to himself. "Except for the marriage commitment, I mean."

John laughed softly and nodded. "So, should we get the first introduction out of the way?"

"Look," Sherlock said, standing up. "Why don't you go up and start unpacking first? I've got some work to do and maybe tonight we can . . . I don't know, just 'hang out' like you suggested. What do you think?"

"Yeah, okay," John said, eager to put some space between them. He could meet the landlady later. He made his way to the steps and climbed slowly, closing himself in his new room to start unpacking.

Sherlock went into his own room, moving to his small desk and opening his laptop. However, he changed his mind and moved over to his bed, lying down and closing his eyes. He thought a bit about the predicament he'd got himself into. He was obviously pleased that soon the inheritance and his brother's harassment were be resolved, but he was also strangely intrigued by the whole thing. That whole first meeting at the hospital was a chance encounter, yet Sherlock had trusted it -- why? He wanted to figure that out.

John unpacked slowly, only able to use one hand to go back and forth between his bags and the wardrobe. Sherlock hadn't mentioned his leg at all and suddenly John wondered if that would embarrass him. He couldn't imagine how people in Sherlock's life would react -- he didn't know anyone. He tried not to think about that and turned his mind to other things. They were going to have to work on a story for the nosy people -- how they met and who proposed and how they did it. They would need rings as well. He wondered if Sherlock had thought of all this or started to prepare anything.


	6. The Details

Sherlock drifted in and out of sleep and his Mind Palace as he lay on the bed. Eventually he got up and checked his email but had nothing from any new clients. He made his way out of his room, stopping at the bathroom to use the toilet and splash his face with cool water, and then headed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He glanced up at the spare room, but tried not to think about it. John lived here now -- Sherlock tried to remind himself that he no longer had the right to know what was going on at all times.

When John finished, he headed back down to the sitting room. Trying to feel comfortable here, he sat on the sofa and turned on the telly.

Sherlock made two cups of tea and brought them over. "How's the room then?" he asked. "Will it be okay?'

"Yes, it's perfect," he smiled, taking the mug from Sherlock. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "I had a little rest," he added, though he wasn't sure why. "Anyway, do you have plans this evening? We could get something to eat and, you know, 'hang out' like you said."

"That sounds good," John smiled. "I meant to ask you, have you thought of a back story for us? How we met? How we proposed? Rings?"

Sherlock looked over. None of those things had crossed his mind. "Do you think we'll need all that?" he asked. "I mean, is all of that necessary to a marriage?"

"I think we will if we want to pass this off as a real marriage. People will ask so we should have answers ready. And by the sounds of what your usual relationships have been, I suspect people will be shocked that you're suddenly married. We should have a story as to why we kept it quiet, you know?"

"I don't know many people who'd care," Sherlock said. "Just my mother and Mrs Hudson the landlady, really." He took a sip of tea. "Let's figure that out tonight, all right? Do you want food or what?"

"Yeah, sure," John said. "But we can't forget to go over it later, okay?"

"Yes fine, but I'll probably need a drink first, all right?" Sherlock said. "Don't start nagging me." He tried to make a smile as he said it but that was the joke about marriage, right, the nagging spouse? All of a sudden Sherlock worried a little. John seemed nice, but he was also a doctor -- was he going to start nagging Sherlock about eating and sleeping and smoking as well? "Do you want to cook or order or go out?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Um, let's order in. After all the unpacking, I feel like just relaxing for the night."

"Me too," Sherlock said, though he wasn't quite sure what John meant by relaxing but guessed their definitions differed a little. He got up and grabbed a menu from the drawer. "Chinese is the closest," he said as he tossed it to John. "I'll pay."

"Is this coming out of my payoff?" he asked, teasing as he looked over the menu. 

"No, I'm trying to be generous," Sherlock said. "It's not my strong suit so you should feel flattered. Or perhaps I'm just wooing you. Once that document's signed, my generosity may dry up." He made a little smile as he flopped down onto the sofa. He reached into his pocket and threw his wallet to John. "They know the address. I'll take a fried rice -- get whatever you want."

John caught the wallet and opened it. There was no cash, but he took out Sherlock's card. There was a photo inside, a small child holding a man's hand. The head of curls was identical to Sherlock now. It made John smile, but then he felt like he was intruding on something private so he closed the wallet quickly and gave it back to Sherlock as he called in the order. "Thanks," he told Sherlock, giving him the card.

"It'll be twenty six minutes," Sherlock said. He lay there for a few moments and then got up and moved to kitchen. "Wine all right?" he asked, looking through the cupboards for two glasses.

"Yeah, that's perfect," John said, flipping through the channels. 

Sherlock washed and dried the two glasses and then opened the wine. He brought it and the glasses into the other room, setting them on the table. "Do you want plates? I have some," he said.

"I don't mind eating from the boxes, less dishes."

Sherlock went back into the kitchen and grabbed some forks, bringing those in as well. He poured some wine for himself and took a sip and then poured some for John as well. "Hope you like it," he said. He took another sip. "Today was an odd day," he said. "I guess you live here now."

John smiled. "I live here now," he said. "I still can't wrap my mind around it completely. I know it's only going to get more . . . complicated, but I think it'll be okay."

"Complicated?" Sherlock asked. "That's not a very sweet thing to say. Here I'm being all generous and I'm getting nothing in return. So far, being engaged isn't very fun at all."

"Sorry, it's just an unusual situation for me," John said. "As far as fake husbands, you're an excellent companion," he added.

"I'm satisfied with that compliment," Sherlock said, taking another sip. "It may actually be the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me." He looked over. "The food's late," he said.

"Do you order from them a lot? Maybe there's traffic," he said. 

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it's you," he said. "Twenty six minutes for one meal. Longer for two." 

"Oh," John said. "Well, I'm sure it won't be too much longer."

Sherlock took another sip of wine and then turned his head. "They're here," he said. "I'll go get it." He hurried down the stairs and opened the door. 

"Your appetite's improved," the delivery man said.

Sherlock just looked at him before taking the bag of food. He carried it back upstairs, setting it down on the table. He pulled out his food on and grabbed a fork before sitting down again.

John glanced at the table where Sherlock left the rest of the food. "I thought you were bringing it over," he said, pushing himself up and moving slowly over to the kitchen for his food. He had to make two trips, putting everything on the coffee table before sitting down. 

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "Do you want me to feed you as well?" It was kind of a joke, but he didn't really think it was that big of a deal.

John felt his cheeks burn. He ignored the question and focused on his food, eating quietly and watching the telly. 

Sherlock took a few bites and then set his down. He picked up his glass instead. "Yours taste okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's good," John said. He took a large sip of wine between bites. 

"So what romantic proposal story do you want to tell?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, we might as well go full out, over the top. Did you propose to me or am I the dashing gentleman who swept you off your feet?"

"I definitely proposed. At a nice restaurant. Something fancy. But not by hiding the ring in your drink. That's cliché," he smiled. "Where did we meet?"

"At the hospital in the lift, remember?" Sherlock said. "I saw you and remembered you and that's why I chose you."

"No, for our story, Sherlock. It has to be far enough back for this romance to have built."

"Oh right, I see what you mean," Sherlock said. "But you do remember when we really met, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he said. "Maybe a mutual friend?"

"Unlikely," Sherlock said. "I've not got friends. How about we actually met a few years ago -- I consulted you on a case. I have done that sometimes and I don't usually talk about my sources. We kept in touch and reconnected when my father first got sick. That would've been a few months ago -- is that enough time?"

"Well, if we're very much in love I think that a few months is perfect," John said. "We can handle acting on that," he smiled. 

"Well, yes, obviously we're very much in love," Sherlock said. He leaned forward and topped up both their glasses. "Fine, those two things are sorted -- how we met and how you proposed. Was there something else on your list?"

"Rings," John said. "I think we're going to need rings."

Sherlock crinkled his nose. "That's a bit outdated, isn't it?" he asked. "Or are you just the traditional type?"

"Traditional has gone out the window at this point, but yes, I think rings are important."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "We'll get them tomorrow, I guess." He took another sip and added, "You're not going to insist I wear a white dress, are you?" He laughed a little which turned into a much bigger laugh than he'd intended. Perhaps the wine was having a bit of an effect.

John smiled and then couldn't help laughing softly as he watched Sherlock. "Don't give me ideas," he teased. 

"You can trust me to dress myself properly," Sherlock said. "I know it's a special day -- I'll make sure I wear clean pajamas."

John laughed again and shook his head, taking another long sip of wine. "I'm such a lucky guy."

"You are," Sherlock said. "I've given you all this," he said, motioning towards the Chinese dinner. "What more could you want?"

John nodded. "So true," he agreed.

Sherlock looked over at John. "Actually . . . what more do you want? I mean, before you went into the army, you must have had a plan for your life, and I can't imagine marrying a stranger was part of it. What more do you want, Doctor Watson?"

John glanced at him before looking at his wine, taking another long sip, hesitating as he swirled the rest of it. "I don't know. When I joined I just wanted something different. Exciting. Adventure, I guess." He shrugged and looked over at Sherlock. 

Sherlock held John's gaze for a moment. "Well, try to look at this as an adventure. I'm not sure how exciting it'll be, but it's definitely something different," he said.

"Will I be able to come with you when you go out for your work?" he asked. 

"Do you really want to?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I think that would be really interesting," he said. 

"All right, sure, if you want," Sherlock said. "Maybe you really can help me -- if I ever get another case."

John smiled. "Great, yeah," he said. "Thanks."

Sherlock looked over at John and suddenly he had a sense that they'd known each other all their lives. He felt strangely comfortable. Maybe it was the wine. "Tomorrow I'll introduce you to the landlady. Tomorrow it'll be official," he said.

John took a deep breath and nodded. "Official," he said. "I work tomorrow, I can get rings on the way home before we talk to her," he offered. 

"Are we supposed to pick them out together or are you in charge because you're the one proposing?" Sherlock asked. 

"How about I'll get your engagement ring tomorrow and we can go for wedding bands together?" John suggested.

"Very exciting," Sherlock said with a smile. "When do you work tomorrow?"

"I start at nine," he said. "When I'm done depends on how busy we are."

"I see," Sherlock said. "Perhaps I can dig up a case -- do you work every day?"

"I try to be available if they need me," John admitted. He had no idea how long it'd be until the money came in, so he didn't want to pass up any chances to earn some.

"When are you going to marry me then?" Sherlock asked. "At least my work schedule is flexible." He threw a pillow over toward John.

John caught the pillow and laughed. "Obviously I will take the day off! And maybe an extra week to make the honeymoon believable. Where are you taking me?"

"Oh Christ," Sherlock moaned. "Again, wherever you want is fine . .. I'm beginning to suspect you're only marrying me for my money." And then he began to laugh again. A ridiculous laugh with a snort that made him laugh even more.

"Literally I am," John laughed, the wine making it easy to say without a guilty squirm in his stomach. 

"You're saying you don't love me at all?" 

John held his fingers up to show a wide inch. Then he grinned and laughed again. 

"Well, that's ten times more than anyone else ever has, so I'll take it," Sherlock said. He finished his wine. "I'm a bit drunk," he stated.

"Yes, me too," John admitted. 

"But I get to sleep in as late as I'd like," Sherlock said, stretching his legs out and plopping them on the coffee table.

"Oh, yeah," John groaned dramatically. He put his glass down and sighed. "I should go to bed."

"I didn't mean . . . but yeah, you're probably right," Sherlock said. "Sorry. Hopefully the wine'll help me to sleep tonight."

"Do you have trouble usually?" John asked. 

"What?" Sherlock asked and then looked over. "Yes, sometimes. Well, often. Maybe it's my lack of a regular schedule, right?"

"That could be it," John said. "I just wondered, the way you said it," he said. 

Sherlock looked over at him again. "Why?" he asked. "Are you going to diagnose me, nag me or is there another reason you're curious?"

"Would you listen if I nagged you?" he asked. 

"No," Sherlock said. "Well, I'd listen, but I don't think you can fix this . . . I'll try not to disturb you with my odd hours."

John smiled and stood up, grabbing his cane before taking his rubbish to the bin. "Good night, Sherlock," he said before heading up the stairs. 

"Good night, John," Sherlock said. He too stood up, grabbing the rest of the things from the table and taking them into the kitchen. When he got into bed, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the day of the wedding but the wine made him fall asleep almost immediately.


	7. Mycroft And Mrs Hudson

In the morning John was getting ready for a shower when he realised he didn't know where the towels were. He went in search, delaying his morning by several minutes. When he was finally ready, he nipped into the kitchen to make toast to eat on the way to work.

Sherlock woke to a noise in the flat. He was confused for a second and then remembered it was John, his new flatmate and soon-to-be-husband. He dragged himself from bed and wrapped his dressing gown around him. He came out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "Are you always so noisy in the morning?" he asked grumpily.

"I'd hardly call this noisy," John said, putting the toast in his mouth as he moved to get his bag and coat. "I have to go, I'll see you later," he told Sherlock.

"Are we getting the rings tonight?" Sherlock called after him.

"The engagement for now," John called up the steps. He left and hailed a cab. Once inside he texted Sherlock since there had been no time.

_We can get the wedding rings closer to the wedding. -JW_

Sherlock retrieved his phone from his bedroom and then carried it and his tea to the sofa.

_At least one of us should have a ring on when you meet Mrs Hudson. SH_

_You will. I'll pick it up on my way home. -JW_

_Bring flowers too. SH_

_Okay. -JW_

_And some fags. SH_

_Nope, I'm not encouraging that nonsense. -JW_

_Cruel. SH_

_Responsible. -JW_

Sherlock got up and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his desk, lighting one and inhaling deeply.

_I don't want a boring husband. SH_

_I'm not boring. I'm looking out for you so I can enjoy you longer. -JW_

_You're hilarious. Aren't you supposed to be at work or something? SH_

_I just arrived. -JW_

John put his phone away and finally started tackling the large amount of patients in the lobby.

Sherlock set his phone down and opened his laptop. His website hadn't had any new hits so he started drafting an email to Lestrade. Then his phone rang.

"What are you doing?" his brother's voice demanded.

"Working," Sherlock replied.

"Mrs Hudson said you had an overnight guest."

"Did she now?" Sherlock asked. "So what if I did?"

"Sherlock --"

"Is it my chastity you're worried about? You needn't -- we slept in separate beds, don't you worry. None of that business until we're legal in the eyes of the lord and Father's solicitor."

Mycroft hung up the phone. Sherlock smiled to himself but knew this wasn't the last he'd heard from his brother on this subject.

John stayed busy all day, working through lunch in the hopes of leaving early so he could get to the shop for the ring before he went home. The back of his mind was focused on that, trying to decide what ring would look nice for Sherlock.

Sherlock finished the email to Lestrade and then took a long hot bath. He closed his eyes as the room filled with steam. So far it'd been all right with John here. It hadn't been long but so far, it'd been all right actually.

When John was done for the day, he used his phone to find a resale shop. He walked there and quickly found a silver band with matted silver swirls. Then he nipped into the shop for a few groceries before hailing a cab back to the flat. "Sherlock?" he called.

Sherlock was lying on his bed. He'd been reading and then had gone away into his head for a bit. He sat up quickly when he heard the door open. "What's wrong?" he said as he rushed out.

"What? No, nothing. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to give you this," he said, handing Sherlock the box.

Sherlock turned away dramatically. "Where are the flowers?" he asked.

John winced. "I forgot -- shit," he mumbled. "I can go back out. Sorry."

Sherlock turned around. "At least get down on one knee," he said. "For someone who's a slave to tradition, you're not doing that great of a job."

"I did that already!" John said. "When I first asked you."

"I know but you didn't have the ring and you didn't even really know me," Sherlock said. He folded his hands across his chest. "Do it right, please."

Sliding the short distance from the chair to the floor, after a proper rest, had been one thing. Now, from standing up and working all day and walking through two shops, there was no way with his leg. John put the ring on the table. "I can't. If that's what you want, you'll have to wait until tomorrow," he said, moving to put the groceries away.

"Wait," Sherlock said. He moved into the kitchen and slid one of the chairs out from underneath the table. "Sit down," he said. "It's close enough."

John looked at him for a moment before moving to sit in the chair. He grabbed the box again, his stomach twisting nervously. He looked up at Sherlock and opened it. "Will you marry me?" he asked, more quietly than he expected.

Sherlock took the ring. "It's quite nice," he said. "You shouldn't have spent so much." He looked down at John. "Sorry I was being a bit stupid about it."

John shook his head. "It's okay. Do you like it? We can exchange it and get something else . . ."

"I like it," Sherlock said. "Should I put it on?"

"Yeah, of course you should. Especially if you're going to call up the landlady."

Sherlock slipped it onto his finger. "It feels odd, heavy," he said. He lifted his hand and looked at it, then looked down at John. "Not bad, just unusual, I mean." He stepped away and began unpacking the bags John had brought in.

John stood and helped Sherlock put everything away. "I thought we could get simple silver bands for the wedding."

Sherlock smiled at him. "You were a good pick for a husband," he said. "You know all the things we have to do."

John smiled and shook his head. "Everyone knows."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, not everyone does," he said. "I don't. Think about our situation, John. Obviously I don't know anything about any of this."

"I just meant . . .you really could have picked anyone," he said. "I'm still not sure why you went with me, of all people."

"Because . . . you were the right one," Sherlock said. "So far it's been okay, yeah?"

John nodded. "Yeah, of course," he said. He glanced down at his cane but didn't say what he was thinking. It just didn't make sense, but he wasn't going to push it. "I'm glad you picked me."

"You mean because of the money?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, yes, but also because . . . I don't know. It's different. Interesting." John shrugged. "You're not boring."

"I hope you keep feeling like that," Sherlock said, turning on the kettle. "I hope I can stay interesting."

John smiled. "I don't doubt it," he said. He moved back to the fridge for the Chinese leftovers from the day before.

"Are you eating again?" Sherlock asked. "You were eating when you left and now you're eating again?"

"That was hours ago. And I skipped lunch," John said.

"Hmmm . . . I'd like you to stay slim if that's not too much to ask," Sherlock said. "I mean, for practical reasons."

"How very rude," John teased.

"If you're going to help on cases," Sherlock explained. "You'll need to be agile."

John tapped his cane on the ground. "That's already a no-go," he said, taking his food out of the microwave.

"I can't imagine that'll last long," Sherlock said, pouring the tea. "You must be tired of it by now."

"My limp? That's not how it works, Sherlock."

"It is," Sherlock said. "If you try." He took a sip of tea and sat down to watch John eat. "Your leg wasn't injured, was it?"

"No, but I can't just think it away. Why would I still have it if I could?" he asked.

"Don't ask me -- I only know you well enough to marry you," Sherlock said. "I have a feeling, though, somewhere in your handsome doctor brain you probably have the answer."

John shook his head. "Whatever the reason, the pain is very real so that's that."

"I didn't say that pain wasn't real," Sherlock said. "Did your therapist tell you that? If so, get a new therapist."

John flushed lightly. "What? It doesn't matter. I'm working on it, okay? That's why I was asking if you were sure you wanted me."

"Why would that put me off you?" Sherlock said. "It won't last forever. Trust me. I'm quite wise, you know." He pulled a funny face.

"Yes, I've gathered that," he said.

"Well, whatever you need to do," Sherlock said, getting up and stretching a bit. "Let's wait a bit before going --" he stopped abruptly. "My brother's here," he stated. "You ready for this?"

"Now?" John asked, standing up as well. He took a deep breath. "Yes. Does he walk in alone? Let's cuddle on the sofa."

"Yes, he'll be alone -- he's always alone," Sherlock said. "He has a key," he added, moving over to the sofa. "Come on."

John followed, getting on the sofa and curling close to Sherlock.

"This is weird," Sherlock said. He leaned forward, grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He took a deep breath and waited. He heard a light tap. "Come in," he called.

Mycroft came into the flat. Sherlock turned his head, nodding toward his brother and then looked back to the television.

Mycroft tried to keep a neutral face as he stepped in front of the screen. "And you are?" he asked John.

"John Watson," he said, smiling up at him. "Soon to be Watson-Holmes. Maybe. We're still discussing it."

Sherlock looked at his brother and smiled smugly.

Mycroft turned back to John. "And you met my brother where?"

"He consulted me for a case several months ago," John said.

Sherlock put his arm around John's shoulder, somewhat awkwardly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "And you intend to marry him?" he asked John.

"Yes," John said. He took Sherlock's hand and showed Mycroft the ring. "He said yes," he grinned.

Sherlock was still wearing a smug grin.

"Can I have a word, please, Sherlock?"

"Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of John," Sherlock said. "He'll be family soon, don't forget."

"Fine," Mycroft said. "Sherlock is a virgin."

Sherlock looked up sharply. "Get out," he said.

Now Mycroft was the smug one as he left the flat.

John sat up a bit and watched Mycroft leave. He was so abrasive. When they were alone he glanced over at Sherlock. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, moving away from John to get more comfortable on the sofa. "He's just trying to . . . well, he's just trying to do what he always does: make me look like a fool. This is a good plan, isn't it? It's been all right with you here and I already told you all that business wasn't really my area and this is going to help both of us, right? He's just trying to control things, but once I have my money, he won't be able to control things anymore. So he's just trying to ruin this any way he can."

John watched him rambling. "Sherlock, I don't care if you're . . . it doesn't matter. We'll be fine, yeah?"

"Good, I don't care either. And it doesn't matter anyway," he got up to put the kettle on. "A cup of tea and then we'll do see Mrs Hudson, yeah?"

"Okay, yeah," John said.

Sherlock brought the tea in, handing one to John before moving to sit down in his chair. "It was kind of fun, though," he said, holding the tea up to his mouth as it curved into a little smile. "He hates it affection -- he knows he can't control this."

"And you love it," John grinned.

"I do," Sherlock said. "Now that you've met him, surely you understand why. Imagine that for an entire lifetime." He took a sip of tea. "I wish my father had . . . punished him. Or at least not rewarded all that."

"I'm sorry," John said. He thought about reaching out for Sherlock, but he didn't.

"No matter," Sherlock said. "Thanks to you, he's finally being put into his place." He finished up his tea. "Shall we go down?" he asked.

"Yes, let's go." John stood up and stretched.

"She's nice but in a dangerous way," Sherlock said, moving towards the door and opening it. "You're quite charming though, so I'm sure she'll approve."

"I hope so," John said, following Sherlock. "Should we hold hands?"

"No, well, yes, fine," he answered, reaching over and grabbing John's hand. "No, wait," he said letting go as he knocked on her door. "Let me explain first."

Mrs Hudson opened the door, looking first at Sherlock and then at John.

"Mrs Hudson, have you been spying for my brother?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course not," she said. "But you know how he is . . . are you two coming in?"

Sherlock stepped forward, and he and John went in. "Would you like to meet the person you've been gossiping about? This is him," Sherlock said, nodding toward John.

"I've not been gossiping!" she said, leading them into the kitchen. She wiped her hands on a tea towel.

"This is Doctor John Watson," Sherlock said to her.

"It's nice to meet you," John said, putting his hand out to shake hers.

She shook his hand, her face spreading to wide smile.

"Doctor Watson and I will be getting married soon," Sherlock said. "And I'd like your permission to add him to my lease.

"Married? What on earth are you talking about, Sherlock?" she gasped, still looking at John.

"We've known each other for a while," Sherlock explained. "And with Father's passing, I've come to appreciate the importance of stable companionship." He felt a bit bad lying to her, but it was just easier. Besides, he was enjoying John's being around so it was kind of true.

"I don't know what to say," she said, genuinely flustered. "Here -- let me get us some tea and biscuits and you can tell me all about it."

Sherlock looked over at John and winked.

John offered him a small smile. She seemed genuinely surprised by all of this, so he knew they would have to play it right to convince her. This was what things would be like now, for a while at least.

Sherlock pulled a kitchen chair out for John and then sat down next to him. Mrs Hudson brought over a tray and sat down. "Is that a ring, Sherlock?" she asked, peering over.

"It is," Sherlock said. "John bought it for me."

"It looks nice," she said, smiling at John.

"It is nice," Sherlock said. "John's nice. I mean," he glanced over at John. "He's good."

"Well, I can tell," she said. "You look happy." She turned to John. "I've worried about him . . . he's always so closed off. I'm glad you were able to get through his shell."

John smiled and reached over for Sherlock's hand. "Well, it took some patience but it was well worth it," he said.

"Are you both just going to insult me all evening?" Sherlock said.

"Don't be a baby," Mrs Hudson said. "So you're a doctor?" she asked John.

"I am, yes," John said.

"Look, he's intelligent and trustworthy, all right?" Sherlock said. "Don't be so suspicious."

Mrs Hudson reached over and swatted his arm. "I'm not suspicious!" she said. "I'm just trying to get to know John."

"Why? You're not marrying him," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson said. "Now you're just being stupid -- stop it." She looked over at John again. "I hope you'll be able to have an affect on this kind of behaviour. I admire your willingness to tolerate it."

John smiled. "He just missed me all day," he teased.

Mrs Hudson looked back and forth between them. All of a sudden, her romantic notions cleared for a moment and she realised this seemed a little too unusual. "And you're getting married?" she asked. "Quite quick, isn't it? You're not pregnant, are you?"

"Hilarious," Sherlock said. "Why wait?" he asked. "When you meet the right one, why wait?"

"And John's your right one?"

"Obviously."

"And John," she said. "You're sure Sherlock's your right one."

John looked over at him and nodded. "Yes, I'm quite sure."

"Even with his pouting and smoking and otherwise nuisance behaviour?"

John looked between them and nodded.

"And what about his housekeeping? He's messy. And his noise and staying up all night and--?"

"That's enough, I think, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. He glanced at John. "You don't want to spoil all the things John has to look forward to." He made a little smile.

"Well, yes, sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to . . . it's just, well, it's quite a surprise is all, I guess. I just never thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes in love."

"Well," Sherlock said. "Now you have."

She still wasn't sure, but she had one more test up her sleeve. "Yes," she said. "And it's lovely. In fact, let me take a picture." She reached behind her for her phone on the worktop. She held it up. "Lean in closer together," she said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but leaned over a little towards John.

"Now kiss," she said.

Sherlock turned his head and looked at John, not quite sure what to do.

John turned his head and saw that Sherlock was looking at him like a deer in headlights. "Yeah, of course," John said.

He lifted his hand to Sherlock's cheek, holding his jaw lightly as he moved closer. He held Sherlock's gaze and hoped he was a quick learner. If this was going to be his first kiss, it would suspicious to show it now in front of someone. People in love kissed all the time. He closed his eyes and then the gap between them, lightly pressing his mouth to Sherlock's.

Sherlock felt John's lips against his and he did his best to kiss back. He heard Mrs Hudson cooing as she took the picture. He leaned back and wasn't quite sure where to look. He picked up his mug and finished his tea and then said, "Well, I think we'll head back up. John works in the morning." He pushed back his chair and stood up.

John cleared his throat softly and stood as well. "Um, I'd like a copy of that, please," he said as he followed Sherlock towards the door. "Thanks for the tea." His whole body was warm.

Mrs Hudson walked with them, reaching out and giving Sherlock a hug. He hugged her back for some reason. "I'm glad you approve," he mumbled and then headed back upstairs. Inside the flat, he got out a glass and poured himself a whiskey. "Want one?" he asked John.

"Yeah, okay," John said, running his free hand through his hair. "So, that's what it'll be like," he said.

"I've kissed people before, John," Sherlock said dismissively. "I know what it's like." He handed John a glass and then moved over to his chair.

"What?" John asked. "No, I know. I just mean . . . having to convince someone. It's not so bad."

Sherlock looked up. "Oh, right," he said. "No, it wasn't too bad. She was a bit suspicious, but she's always going on about my being alone. Plus you're charming and all, so I think she's happy about it all." He took a sip of his drink.

"The kiss was okay, yeah? And the things I said?" he asked.

"Yeah, you did it all right," Sherlock said. "I mean, it'll be different when we meet different people, I guess. If it's connected to work, there shouldn't be any kissing or whatnot." He closed his eyes and tipped back his head for a moment before straightening up again. "Will I be meeting any of your people?"

"I don't have people," John said, finishing his whiskey.

Sherlock looked over. "I don't believe that," he said. "You have family -- I guess you're not close, but you must have friends or someone. You don't strike me as someone with no one."

"I only recently came back to England before we met," he said. "It wasn't very long ago that I was still abroad. I haven't talked to anyone I used to. My family doesn't live around here."

Sherlock looked closely at John's face. It seemed honest. "All right," he said. "But if you do want me to meet anyone, just let me know how you expect me to behave." He finished his drink. "I think I might try going to bed."

"Yes, me too," he said. "I really do work tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night, John," Sherlock said. He took his glass to the sink and then went into the bathroom. He looked at his face in the mirror. Was this such a good idea actually? Why was he inviting complication into his life? He splashed his face with water and then looked at it again. No, this wasn't going to be a problem. It wasn't his fault this was happening, it was his father's. This was the only reasonable solution to his father's unreasonable request.

As John was getting ready for bed his mind wandered to the kiss they shared. He had to admit it was nice -- he found himself touching his lips lightly several times through his routine. He was also surprised to find he was thinking about doing it again soon and hoped others would ask for proof. This was a strange situation indeed, but as he started dozing off he couldn't help thinking that, as far as fake husbands go, he didn't do too bad.


	8. The Waiting Period

When Sherlock got up in the morning, he checked his email and found something from Lestrade. He glanced up at John's room, wondering if he'd be able to come along -- he'd said he had to work, but he wasn't up yet. Then Sherlock remembered that his definition of morning wasn't the same as most people's. He looked at the clock and saw that it had just barely gone five. He couldn't recall what time John had left yesterday morning. He finished reading the papers online and then started to get ready, hoping John would be up soon.

John set his alarm a bit earlier so he wasn't rushing like last time. He took a quick shower and went down to the kitchen to make himself a proper breakfast.

Sherlock was dressed and drinking his second cup of tea when John came down. "Sleep okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did, thanks," he said. "You?"

"The usual," Sherlock said. He glanced over. "You're working, yeah? What time will you be getting home, do you think?"

"I think around five," John said. "Depends how busy it is."

"I've got a bit of a case, possibly," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure what time I'll be back."

"Oh. Anything interesting?" John asked.

"I'm not certain," Sherlock said. "In fact, I'm not certain it's a case, but my contact with the police wants to meet up, so hopefully something will come of it."

"I wish I could come along. Maybe next time," he said.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea and turned his focus back to the computer. "You couldn't take off work?" he mumbled under his breath.

John glanced over. "If I had known ahead of time," he said, eating his meal quickly.

"Right, of course," Sherlock said, pulling open the drawer of his desk for no reason whatsoever. He shut it and stood up. "Okay, I'm off -- am I supposed to text you if I'm going to be late or something? Is that something flatmates do?"

"I suppose," he nodded. "I'll cook here tonight."

Sherlock slipped his coat on and then looked toward the kitchen. "Are you going to miss me?" he asked with a cheeky smile.

"Of course," John smiled. "Won't you give me a kiss goodbye?"

"Don't be stupid," Sherlock said and with a wave of his hand, he was off.

John laughed as he sat down to eat his breakfast before he left as well.

Once he got to the Yard, Sherlock stepped into Lestrade's office, eager for possibility. Lestrade moved his head, encouraging Sherlock to sit down. Then he sat down as well.

"What's happening?" Sherlock said. He hoped that the solemn of the DI's face meant this case would be complicated.

"How have you been?" Lestrade asked.

"What? Fine," Sherlock said impatiently. "So there's been a murder . . .?"

Greg's face crinkled and then he leaned back in his chair a little. "Oh no, nothing like that," he said. "There's nothing really -- I just wanted to check in with you."

Sherlock humphed and stood up to leave.

"Hold on," Lestrade said, leaning forward again. "Look, sit down -- I've got something to ask you."

Sherlock glanced at the door and then back at Lestrade and then sat down. "And this is something you couldn't ask over the phone?" he grumbled.

"Sherlock -- look," Greg said. He softened his voice a little. "You know I don't work for your brother or anything but --"

Sherlock stood up again. 

"Wait! I'm not spying, I swear, it's just . . . marriage? You? It's . . . unexpected, wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock glared at him. Lestrade's face looked genuinely confused and despite Sherlock's irritation, he quickly realised this would be a good chance to get someone on board with the idea. "It is," he said seriously. "Fine, I'll give you that. But just because I've worked best alone in the past, it doesn't mean I wouldn't thrive with a partner."

"Marriage isn't a business, Sherlock," Lestrade said. "If you want to hire a partner, hire one -- you don't have to marry him. Marriage should be about . . . love."

"Yes, I know that," Sherlock said. "I'm not an idiot. I know it's about love. But part of what I love is working and John . . ." he noticed Lestrade's interest in the name ". . . he and I also work effectively together so why wouldn't the other part . .. the love. . . also be effective -- good, I mean. It's all good. Everything is good."

Lestrade looked at him -- his face revealed he still had questions.

"Find me a case," Sherlock said, "and I'll introduce you to him." He turned to leave.

"I want an invite to this wedding!" Lestrade called, but Sherlock was already down the hallway.

John worked steadily. He was busier than the day before and worried he was going to be late getting home. Luckily the stream of patients slowed as the afternoon wore on. When John left he stopped to pick up some flowers on his way home to surprise Sherlock.

Sherlock sent his brother a text which primarily consisted of swear words and then took a taxi home. He lay down on his bed and thought about how incredibly irritating Mycroft was. When he realised it was almost five, he got up and boiled the kettle, setting out a mug for John and then pouring his own. He moved over to the window, waiting, and then sat down at his desk.

John came in with the flowers, calling for Sherlock as he moved into the kitchen.

Sherlock looked over and smiled at the flowers. He followed him into the kitchen and got tea ready for John. "You didn't have to buy flowers," he said, still smiling.

John glanced up at his face. "I did," he said, seeing how Sherlock was smiling. "I wanted to."

"Hmmm, suspicious," Sherlock said. "How was work?"

"Fine, you know, the usual," he said. "Tell me about your case."

"What? Oh, well, I guess it wasn't actually a case, I'm afraid," Sherlock said. "It was . . . just a question. I'm sure there are crimes out there that need solving but. . ."

"Oh. Well, maybe something will come up soon," John said. "Do people commission you on your blog?"

"That's the idea but alas, not the reality," Sherlock said.

"Maybe we can . . . spruce it up a bit," John said.

"What do you mean? It's fine as it is," Sherlock said, slightly defensively.

"Well, yeah, but it could be more . . . user friendly," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. "I think it's quite good," he mumbled under his breath.

"I just mean it's great for, like, intellectuals and scientists but not so much for the average, general public, you know?"

"Well . . . how do I make it . . ." Sherlock thought carefully about his words, ". . . more useful?"

"Um, I hate to use these words but we should . . . dumb it down. We can make a new one so we don't mess yours up."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "You mean you'll help me?" he asked.

"Of course," he said.

"Well, thanks," Sherlock said. "Maybe we could start later, if you're up to it." He thought for a few moments and then said, "Look, should we get this wedding thing over or what? We could tomorrow if you don't have to work."

"Oh, well we'd have to register. I think it takes twenty days our something like that. Or thirty?"

"Fuck," Sherlock said. "Let me go check." He got up and moved to his laptop. That couldn't be right, could it?

John watched him get his laptop. He opened his own and went to his blog. Suddenly he was struck with an idea. "Sherlock? What if I made my blog about your cases?"

Sherlock looked over. "What do you mean?" he asked. "What would you write about?" He turned his attention back to his search. John was right -- without some special interference, there did seem to be a wait before they could get married. This just meant more time for one of them to change their mind or for Mycroft to interfere. Mycroft -- suddenly it dawned on Sherlock that Mycroft's middle name was practically "special interference." He wondered if his brother could do something to help; well, no, he wondered if his brother would do something to help. He reached for his phone and sent a text. Why did Mycroft even care about any of this? 

_Need your help re: avoiding waiting period for wedding. SH_

He moved over closer to John to find out more about this blog business.

"I would write about your cases -- I can take notes and then write it up here, sort of like a story that will be easier for the general public to follow."

"Well, I don't know . . . would people really look at it, do you think?" Sherlock asked.

"I think so, once the word spreads and we get some traffic."

"You'd do that for me? You'd need some details -- are you really interested in all that?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, of course I am," he said. 

Sherlock realised he was smiling a bit stupidly, so he tried to change his face. Right as he did, his phone vibrated.

_Humour does not suit you. MH_

"Damn him," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"I was hoping my brother would help with the waiting period," Sherlock said. "Why I thought that, I do not know. I forgot he's incapable of anything that doesn't directly benefit him." He quickly typed a response.

_This is going to happen. Let it. Why must you be like you are? Just help. SH_

"Can he do that?" John asked.

Sherlock looked over. "He can do anything," he said. His phone vibrated.

_You know I don't give away my help. Perhaps you could earn it. MH_

"Oh god," Sherlock said. Another text came through.

_I don't doubt our family would like to celebrate the happy occasion along with you. Let me plan the wedding. Say yes and it can be done this weekend. On my terms obviously. MH_

"Oh god," Sherlock repeated and sent a one word reply.

_Specifics. SH_

"What's happening?" He asked.

"He's trying to trick me," Sherlock mumbled, staring at the screen. "He's offered help but with a catch -- he'll plan the wedding."

"Like, something big and showy?"

"God only knows," Sherlock said. "I asked for specifics, but he's going to draw this out. I need tea." He got up and put the kettle on. He actually needed a cigarette, but he wasn't sure how John would feel about that. His phone vibrated as he brought the tea back in.

_Wedding planning is complicated and expensive. I am offering you the service at no cost. I can guarantee a wedding any couple in love will enjoy. Trust me. I'll call Mother in the morning and be in touch with details. MH_

Sherlock exhaled slowly and handed the phone to John. "What do you think?"

"I suppose we have no choice, unless we wait the month to do it," he said. "How bad could it be?"

"I honestly hate to think," Sherlock said. He shook his head. "Let's stop thinking about that. Let's think about this website you're going to do." He was hoping that saying it aloud would help his brain to follow the advice.

"Well, each blog entry will be a title for the case, something catchy. And then I'll write it up."

"Should we do one now? I can get my notes for details," Sherlock suggested.

"Yeah, sure," John said. "Let's move to the sofa so you're not standing over me."

Sherlock got up but first moved to his desk, digging through the drawers to find his notes. "This one was quite interesting, I think," he said. "To me at least." He took the papers over to the sofa and sat down, quickly launching into an explanation. He liked how John listened and typed quickly, but his favourite part was John's occasional comments which frequently featured the word "Amazing." Sherlock liked that bit quite a lot.

"This is great, Sherlock. I can't wait to go on a case with you," John said as he typed.

"I look forward to that," Sherlock said. He got up and made them both tea. "So you'll just type it up . . . like a story?"

"Yes," he smiled. "I'll show you before I post it."

Sherlock dropped onto the sofa and put his feet up on the table. He took a long sip of tea. "I just want to say something," Sherlock said. "I don't know quite what my brother has planned, but you are under no obligation to do anything. I'm bound to him for life, but you aren't. You don't have to say anything now, but when we find out what he's got planned, just remember that and be honest, yeah?"

John looked over. "I'm not backing out, Sherlock." He tapped the ring. "We're in this together now."

Sherlock hoped John kept feeling like that, but he knew -- or at least thought he knew -- what his brother was capable of. He finished his tea and then glanced at the clock. "It's later than I expected. Sorry for keeping you up," he said.

"That's okay, I don't work tomorrow."

"All right," Sherlock said. "You staying up then?"

"I want to finish this first story and post it. It's exciting," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled. "Thanks, John," he said genuinely. He finished his tea and set his empty mug on the table. "Look, I'm going to close my eyes for a moment, okay?" he said. "I'll still be here sort of . . . it's just . . . I'll be thinking, I guess."

"That's fine. I can move to my chair," he said.

Sherlock leaned back and then turned and put his legs up on the sofa. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He lay there trying to think of nothing so his mind was clear. This would allow what need to be thought about to reveal itself. 

Unsurprisingly it was Mycroft. First it was his smug adult face and then soon it was his smug child's face. He and Sherlock were at their grandparents' house, in the attic. Sherlock wouldn't have remembered it if he'd been asked, but the memory was there and for some reason it was showing itself. They were talking about the girl who lived next door. Sherlock had wanted to play with her but Mycroft had said no. He'd told Sherlock the girls were useless. Sherlock knew his mum was a girl and she was far from useless, so he told Mycroft. Mycroft had just shaken his head. Sherlock never got to play with the girl. Sherlock hadn't spent much of his childhood playing with anyone.

John moved to his chair and typed for the next two hours. When he finished he went to Sherlock and tapped his shoulder. "Sherlock? It's done."

"What?" Sherlock said, sitting up quickly. "Oh, right, that was fast," he said. Then he noticed the clock. "Sorry, I didn't realise I was gone so long." He sat up properly and said, "Can I have a look? And can I also have a cup of tea, please?"

"Yeah, read that and let me know what you think," John said, going to get the tea.

Sherlock set the laptop on his lap and began reading. He fixed two typos but overall it was all accurate. When John returned with the tea, he passed the laptop back to him. "You think that will work? Making it all . . .I don't know, like that?" he asked.

John smiled. "Yes, I think this will work. We just need some traffic."

"And how do we get that?"

"We just have to wait. People that blog on this site will see a new post. If it catches their interest they'll like it or comment and people that follow them will see it and that's that," he said.

"Well," Sherlock said, standing up. "I don't think I'll wait around for that to happen." He made a little stretch. "You'll be here in the morning?" he asked.

"Yeah, probably sleeping in a bit," he smiled.

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "I guess tomorrow we'll find out when and how this whole thing's going to play out." He grabbed his phone and started toward his bedroom. "Thanks for your help -- I don't know if it'll make a difference but . . . thanks." He gave John a little smile.

John smiled. "Good night Sherlock," he said.

"Night, John," Sherlock said. 

Sherlock had thought he'd been ready to sleep when he got into bed, but sleep didn't come. He was anxious about tomorrow, wondering what his brother had in store for him. It was all so stupid. What he did with his own life wasn't his brother's concern. And besides, this thing with John wasn't all that ridiculous -- they seemed to be doing okay, John hadn't really annoyed Sherlock once since he'd moved in here. There'd been a lot of big changes in Sherlock's life recently, and he thought he was handling them all. Why couldn't Mycroft just see that and trust his decisions? He was tired of thinking about his brother. He rolled over and tried to get comfortable enough for sleep to come.

John watched the blog for another hour. They got one visitor. He hoped by the morning they'd have more. He closed it and got ready for bed. He wanted this to work -- Sherlock seemed excited about it and he didn't want to ruin it.


	9. Sherlock's Mother

Sherlock didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have since eventually he woke up. It was still quite dark, but he knew there was no use in trying to fall asleep again. He got up and slipped his dressing gown on, and then went into the kitchen to make tea, trying to be as quiet as possible so he didn't wake John. He did, however, decide that this was a good chance for a cigarette, so he opened a window slightly and blew the smoke out into the cold early morning air.

When John finally woke up, he pulled the computer close and checked the blog. They had one comment on the new story and ten views. He smiled and stretched before getting up. He made his way down and started making himself tea. "Sherlock? We had a comment," he said.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said. "On the blog? What did they say?" He moved to the kitchen to top up his mug.

"Well, it just says 'that's awesome' but there's ten views so it's working," he smiled.

"Hmmm, sounds suspicious," Sherlock said. "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I did. You?" He asked.

"It was all right," Sherlock said. He decided not to mention his anxiety about his brother's phone call, not wanting to worry John. He wished Mycroft would just call now and get it over with. "So, the blog, do you think we'll actually get some clients from it or just strangers leaving random comments?"

"Be patient, yeah? We'll get more traffic, but it'll take some time. Maybe we can do another one today?"

"I don't like to be patient," Sherlock said childishly (and truthfully). He carried his tea over to the window to stare out at the street. Then his phone rang. He tried not to rush to answer it. But it wasn't his brother, it was his mother.

"Sherlock!" she said excitedly. "Congratulations!"

Of course, Sherlock thought, of course this was how Mycroft would do this. "Yes," he said stupidly.

"I'm so pleased," she said, her voice a little shaky. "I'm so happy . . . and this weekend? It's a bit rushed -- are you certain this is the right one?"

"I'm certain," Sherlock said.

"Say it again," she said.

"I'm certain," he repeated.

"Okay," she said. "You know I always know when you're lying so I just had to be sure. Good, yes, so now I can be excited -- what time are you arriving Friday?"

Sherlock glanced at John. "We're still sorting that . . ." he said. "Did Mycroft tell you the arrangements?" 

"Well, just that the ceremony is at noon on Sunday. But I think he's making arrangements for dinner Saturday night. I just . . . I just was hoping you could come on Friday so I could . . . get to know him a little, you know, before all the family starts arriving."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've got to talk to John -- we're not sure if he'll have to work then. I'll ring you later, yeah?" he said.

"Just let me know as soon as possible," she said. "I'm looking forward to this. It's been a rough few months for this family -- it'll be nice to celebrate some happiness." Her voice cracked a little. "It's all your father and I wanted, Sherlock -- for you to be happy."

"I know," he said softly. "I'll ring you soon."

He hung up and looked at John. "He's already told my mother," he said. "He's a very tricky bastard, my brother."

"Are you okay?" John asked, not really sure why. "What did he say?"

"It was my mother," Sherlock said. "She's excited."

"Oh," John said, surprised. He felt a pang of guilt now that other family was getting involved and lied to. "So what's the plan?"

"We're getting married Sunday and there's some kind of dinner with extended family on Saturday night, but my mum wants us to come up on Friday," he said, looking over cautiously. "What do you think?"

"That's fine," he said. "I won't work that day. Do I need to learn about the family?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. He paced around a little. "You'll do it -- all this is all right?"

John nodded. "I agreed, Sherlock. I'm in this with you, okay?"

Sherlock looked at him closely. "All right," he said. "Thanks." He took a deep breath. "I should probably fill you in on some things. I'll need another cup of tea first."

John closed the computer and grabbed his notebook to take notes on Sherlock's family.

Sherlock made two cups of tea and came over to sit by John. He took a deep breath and started. "As you know, my father is dead. My mother is . . ." He thought about her for a moment. "She is very intelligent and very kind. It was very difficult her, watching my father die. She was stoic, but I know it hurt her. I tried . . . I did my best to help her, but I am not always very good at compassion," he admitted.

John nodded. "I could imagine that would be hard," he said. He sipped his tea. "I've met your brother. Who else will be there?"

"Extended family. Uncles and aunts, including a few people who aren't actually blood relations -- my father was involved with a lot of . . ." Sherlock tried to find the right word. ". . . organisations, I guess, so we would have visitors who'd come stay for a while. I don't know if any children will be there -- god, I hope there are no children there."

"Will you be okay with this?" John asked, watching Sherlock closely.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I think so. . . I'll try." He took a sip of tea. "You probably need a few more details about my brother. But I might also need a cigarette before I tell you." 

"I'll allow it this time," John teased.

Sherlock got up and grabbed a cigarette from his desk drawer. He moved over toward the window and opened it a little before lighting up. "My brother is the most powerful man you'll ever meet," he said. "Literally. There is very little he cannot do. Except…he's not very good at feeling. To be honest, it's not my strong point either. I suppose it's something to do with the way we were raised. It must be. That's not to say that my parents were cold. They weren't but . . . I guess neither of us really took to that. Neither of us had friends. I don't know why . . . it was just always just me and him. And he wasn't really . . . a friend. I didn't believe he ever wanted to be cruel -- I suppose I still believe that. But he . . . can be cruel."

John listened and watched Sherlock closely. "Sometimes it's difficult with siblings."

"But now he could affect your life," Sherlock said. "It doesn't seem fair. I mean, I know you want the money, but he's going to make our lives difficult."

John nodded. "I understand this is a weird situation and there could be consequences and complications, but I agreed. I want to do this with you."

"But why?" Sherlock finished his cigarette and then his tea. "Our family is going to be yours as well, I guess, at least on paper. I just need you to promise that if it gets to be too much, you'll say. I won't lie -- my motivation for all of this is selfish, my motivation usually is, but I suppose . . . I just want you to be all right."

"I wouldn't do that to you," John said. "We're in this together."

"You don't owe me anything," Sherlock said. "Just know that." He got up to make another cup of tea. "So can we go on Friday -- is that possible? If we hire a car, we can be there within a few hours -- if we're there by dinner, I'm sure that'll be fine," Sherlock said. He returned with his tea. "I'm never taken someone to my parents' house," he stated.

"I'll take the day off. We can get ready properly and not have to rush to get there," John said. 

"We'll need to get rings," Sherlock said. "I'd like to buy us rings, yeah?"

"Want to go tomorrow? On my lunch?" 

"All right. You're smiling -- have you been feeling jealous that I've got a ring and you haven't?" he asked with a cheeky smile.

John smiled wider. "Maybe." He looked at his hands and wiggled his fingers. "I want to show everyone I'm all yours."

"You're ridiculous," Sherlock said shaking his head. "What are your plans today?"

"I thought I'd type up another case," he said. "Do you have something intense? Something with a lot of twists?" 

"My whole life has twists, John Watson. You should know that before we are wedded."

"I'll keep that in mind," he laughed.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll pick a confusing one for you." He fiddle with the hem of his shirt. "Not just yet, though, yeah? I think I might lie down on the sofa. Do you mind?"

"That's fine, yeah," he said. "I'll find things to do."

"What kinds of things?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Maybe I'll write my vows," he smiled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just make sure that you put something in there about making tea," he said as he got up and moved to his desk. He opened his email and saw one from his brother. "Oh god," he mumbled, skimming through it. He sent the attachment to the printer and skimmed the printout over even though he'd just read the document. "John," he said. "He's sent his demands."


	10. Mycroft's Plans

Sherlock began to read from the paper.

"Your wedding weekend has been planned. As your motivation is financial, be aware you will work for it.  
Saturday midday: Family will begin arriving. You will play host. You and your fiancé must be in the same room at all times. You and your fiancé must be clothed identically.  
Sunday midday: The wedding will take place. Vows will be provided. I will be your best man, for obvious reasons. There will be a receiving line and you will speak to every guest. You will love this.  
Sunday afternoon: Reception at the Williams Club. I will give a speech. You and your husband will dance. There will be photographs.  
You will be permitted to return to London Monday.  
Can I trust you to buy rings or do I have to do everything?"

John blinked. "Um . . . wow. You were not exaggerating about him. He's providing the vows?" he asked. "I was looking forward to writing something," he mumbled.

Sherlock said, "I need another cigarette." He got one and moved back to the window. He stared out at the street as the smoke filled his lungs. "I am capable of acting like an adult," he said quietly to the window pane. "I may not do the things normal adults do, but I'm not a child."

John didn't know what to say so he let him talk to vent his feelings. He thought of his own strained relationship with his sister as Sherlock talked.

Sherlock turned around sharply and looked at John. "I want to marry you," he stated. "Obviously the idea came about because of my father's will and needing my inheritance. But in the last week I've decided I quite like you. All this weekend is about is a stupid piece of paper that means we'll get some money. Next Monday, nothing else will be different. It'll be just like it's been this week, and to be honest, I've quite enjoyed your being here." He was kind of surprised by the little speech, so he took a long drag on his cigarette to keep any more words from tumbling out of his mouth.

John blinked at him -- that wasn't what he'd expected to hear. But he agreed with Sherlock. Despite the odd situation they were in, Sherlock was turning out to be interesting and fun. "I want to be married to you, too," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Then we'll get through whatever trials my stupid brother has set for us and then it will be no one's business but mine, yours and our bank accounts." He gave John a smile.

John had almost forgotten that the money was the whole reason for this, and the thought surprised him. "Yes, we'll get through it."

Sherlock looked over at John and realised John was his friend now. Sherlock had a friend. "Thanks," he said. He stood up. "I'm going to have a bath, I think. Can we work on the blog in a bit? I didn't sleep well and I might want to lie down after my bath."

"That's fine. I think I will work on vows anyway, just as a back up in case your brother's are terrible," he said.

"You can tell them to me in private," Sherlock said. "Wait, does that mean I should write some as well? I'll have a think in the bath."

"Only if you want to," he said. "It's not necessary."

"I'll see if I'm inspired," Sherlock said, heading into the bathroom. "If you're going to go out for anything, knock on the door so I know, yeah?"

Sherlock went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He turned on the bath and then brushed his teeth. When the mirror started to steam up, he stripped himself of his pajamas and sunk into the hot water, closing his eyes as he leaned back.

His body was still quite tense, and he knew it would be until this was all over. His brother would make this weekend a nightmare, but Sherlock would have to do whatever Mycroft wanted. He reminded himself that this would be the last time that would happen. As soon as he was financially secure, his brother would have no say in what Sherlock did or how Sherlock lived.

John settled into the pillows and checked the blog one more time before he opened a document and thought about writing out proper vows. He glanced at the bathroom. He hadn't known Sherlock for very long. He was smart and handsome and kind -- he looked away from the bathroom door and shook his head to clear it, starting to type up what he thought.

Sherlock wondered what John meant by wanting to write his own vows. He hoped John wasn't taking this all too seriously -- he worried that, despite John's confidence, Mycroft might really end up hurting John. Sherlock hoped the harassment would focus on him. He could handle his brother. He was pretty sure he could. He tried to imagine what he might say to John if he were really going to make a public promise to him. Sherlock Holmes rarely made promises, but when he did, he kept them. Could he agree to keep the flat clean? Or respect John's privacy? He wasn't entirely sure. But he would try to protect John from harm, especially harm caused by Mycroft. That seemed like something he could promise.

The water began to cool and Sherlock got out and dried off. Neither his body nor his mind was at ease, but he was a little more relaxed, so he walked into his bedroom, calling out "Nap!" as he did. He slid under his sheets, stretching out before curling up to sleep.

John looked over his shoulder and didn't answer as Sherlock passed him. He kept typing slowly, checking the blog every once in a while. They had 23 views now, no new comments and no cases. He decided to take a break from the vows and update his About Me section, explaining what the blog would be about and inviting viewers to send through cases for Sherlock. He hoped that would help bring in some business.

Sherlock emerged from his bedroom a few hours later. He had put clean pajamas on instead of getting dressed. He moved to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. "Need tea?" he called, assuming John was within listening distance.

"Yes please," John called, the screen open to the vows again. There wasn't much there but he figured if they spent more time together, he could add more.

Sherlock poured two cups and brought them in. "What have you been doing?" he said. "You haven't been writing vows the whole time, have you? I've only been to a few weddings, but I don't think they're supposed to be that long." He gave John a newly-awake smile before taking a sip of tea.

"I've been refining," he smiled. "I've also added a section inviting readers to leave cases on the blog. I'm hoping that'll help."

"You mean on the blog?" Sherlock said. "That's a clever idea." He held the tea up close to his face. "I think I feel better after my rest," he announced for no real reason.

"Good," John smiled. "Yes, I thought it was clever as well. Hopefully something good will cone through."

Sherlock pushed himself up off his chair and moved to his desk. He checked his email and saw the one Mycroft had sent. "I'd better call my mum and tell her we'll be there on Friday," he said. But he didn't -- instead he sent a text. There were no new emails so he shut the laptop. "What are you going to do for the rest of the day or evening, really since it's almost gone four?" he asked John.

"I didn't have any plans, to be honest. What about you?"

"None," Sherlock said. "I suppose I'd like to stay home since we'll be away for a while." He got up and moved back to his chair. "I don't always like being away."

"Do you visit your home often?" John asked.

"Not very often," Sherlock said. "It feels like a long trip. I haven't been back since the funeral actually."

John nodded. "I'm sure your mum will be happy to see you." He smiled and stood, making his way to the kitchen to make dinner.

Sherlock got up to follow him. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you," he said. "She'll love you actually."

"Your mum?" He asked, getting ingredients from the fridge. "I suppose I'm a bit nervous about that."

"Don't be -- she loves charming, handsome men," Sherlock said. "I'm the one who should be nervous. I'm worried she'll prefer you to me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" John laughed. "She's your mother."

"I know but you're . . . better than me," Sherlock said.

"I'm not! We're different, that's all."

"We are different -- that's for sure," Sherlock said. He watched John finish making the food. "Let's stop talking about all that for tonight. Do you want to watch television while you eat or what?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," he said. "Are you eating with me?" He asked.

Sherlock looked over suspiciously. "What is it?" he asked.

"Just some chicken and pasta," he said.

"Maybe a few bites," Sherlock said. "Thanks."

John put a bit on a second plate for Sherlock.

Sherlock carried his into the other room and sat on the sofa. He pushed the remote towards John, who chose a film for them to watch as they ate. They stayed away from the topic of the trip and the wedding. The movie wasn't entirely interesting to Sherlock so he offered to do the washing up. He returned with two cups of tea. They checked the blog and had a few more hits, but no new cases.

Toward the end of the night, Sherlock asked, "Are we still going to get rings tomorrow?"

John nodded. "I usually take my lunch around one, just text me when you're close and I'll try and wrap up any patient I have," John said.

"Right," he said. "And would you be comfortable with silver bands? I know a jeweller who does excellent work."

"Yes, that would be perfect," John said. "It'll match," he added, reaching out and tracing the ring on Sherlock's finger.

Sherlock pulled his hand back awkwardly. "All right," he said. "I'll set my alarm, but if I'm not up, knock on my door before you leave, yeah?"

John flexed his fingers. He wanted to apologise for the touch but didn't want to make it any more awkward by drawing attention to what he'd done. He didn't even know why he did it. "That's fine, I'll make sure I let you know."

"Good night then," Sherlock called and made his way to his room. He pulled a book off the shelf and took it to bed with him, but he didn't bother opening it. He turned off the light and began to think. He thought of his father and his brother and his mother. And of John. John was his friend now, that's what it felt like, but Sherlock was about to involve him in what could be the biggest mess he'd ever created. He took his ring off and set it on the table next to him. He closed his eyes and tried to find a room in his Mind Palace where worry couldn't touch him. But worry lived there now. And so did John.


	11. The Rings

Sherlock didn't sleep much, drifting in and out. He got up twice to make a cup of tea and at 4am he opened the window and smoked a cigarette. He lay down on the sofa, hoping to just relax a little before John woke up.

In the morning John took a quick shower and skipped making lunch since he'd be meeting Sherlock. He could just get something while he was out. He noticed Sherlock asleep on the sofa and lightly tapped his shoulder, before starting the kettle and making some toast.

"What --" Sherlock said, slightly startled before realising where he was. "Tea, please," he added, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"It's boiling now. Did you sleep here all night?" John asked.

"Some of it," Sherlock said, standing to stretch. "I just couldn't . . . " His voice trailed off as he yawned. "How about you? Looking forward to work today?"

John made a noncommittal noise as he shrugged. "Will you text me before you come by the office?"

"I will," Sherlock said. "I might run some errands before -- need anything?"

"I don't think so, no," John said. "I'm going to head out now, I'll see you around noon."

"See you," Sherlock said. He took his cup of tea to his desk and checked his email. He sent a quick message to Lestrade saying he'd be out of town for a few days. Perhaps that a less desperate approach would be more effective -- his work might be more appreciated if he made it more difficult to get. He stared out the window for a few moments, thinking about how he could grow his business when money was no longer an issue. In some ways it was strange -- he hadn't really been thinking about the benefit of getting the money, he'd been focusing more on getting out from under his brother's thumb. 

Once he finished his tea, he got up to shower and went into his bedroom to get dressed. Suddenly his bed looked very enticing so he lay down on it, reaching for his phone to set his alarm just in case he fell asleep. Which he did almost immediately.

When Sherlock's alarm rang, he had a split second of wanting to turn it off and go back to sleep. But instead he dragged himself out of bed, dressed and made his way to meet John, texting him as he went.

John finished up when he saw Sherlock's text, taking his lunch and going outside to wait for Sherlock, so he wouldn't have to come in. He felt a bit nervous about their errand. 

Sherlock waved to John as he approached. "Has the morning gone all right?" he asked as he turned to hail a cab.

"Yeah, bit busy but not bad," John said, moving towards the cab.

Sherlock leaned in and gave the driver the address. "I wasn't quite as productive, I'm afraid," Sherlock said. "I went back to sleep."

"That's good, sleep is important," he said. 

"Well, getting married's important too," Sherlock said, watching out the window. When they pulled up to the shop, he paid the driver and led John in. "Wilson, please," he said to the woman behind the counter, who moved to the back.

A man emerged from behind a curtain, glanced up and smiled widely. "Sherlock!" he said. "It is wonderful to see you. How's your mother?"

"She is well," Sherlock answered. "Bearing up."

"Good to hear," Wilson said. "He will be missed -- I think of him daily."

"As do I," Sherlock said before quickly changing the subject. "I am here to purchase some rings."

"Plural? Does this mean . . . ?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I am getting married."

The man reached over the counter and patted Sherlock's arm. "And who is the lucky lady?" He eyed John. "Or gentleman?"

"Him," Sherlock said, nodding toward John. "Doctor John Watson."

"A doctor?" Wilson said. "Your mother must be pleased." He reached out to shake John's hand. "And what type of rings are you two looking for?"

"Silver and simple," Sherlock said. He looked toward John. "Have a look and see what you'd like."

John glanced around. "Walk with me, so we can make them match," he said. He started looking at different rings. "A silver band is nice," he said.

Sherlock though about the ring on his finger already. "It is," he said, looking over the display. "The one at the very back looks good."

John nodded. He glanced at the price and swallowed hard. "Sherlock, maybe something similar but less expensive?"

"I like that one," Sherlock said. He glanced up at Wilson who came over. He looked over at John. "Let's see how they look at least."

John nodded. The man took them out of the case and set them on the counter. John traced the band before picking it up. He tugged Sherlock's hand closer and slipped it on his finger. "Looks good." The silver looked lovely on his slender fingers. 

"It does," Sherlock said, moving his hand a bit. "Try yours on. It's heavier -- will you get used to it?"

John glanced up at Sherlock and put his hand out, fighting a smile as he waited expectantly.

"Shall we get them then?"

John glanced down at his empty finger, sliding the ring on himself, before swallowing awkwardly. "Yes, they're good. Nice," he said.

Sherlock looked at Wilson. "We'll take them," he said. He pulled a folder paper from his pocket and slid it across the counter. "I'd like them engraved. Will I be able to pick them up in the morning?" he asked.

"Of course," Wilson answered. He opened the paper and said, "This Sunday? Will you be seeing your mother?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I'll give her your best. I'll be back in the morning -- around ten?"

"Wonderful," Wilson said. "It was very nice to meet you," he said to John. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he said, smiling at the man before they headed out.

"I thought we might as well do it properly," Sherlock said. "No matter what happens, Sunday's likely to be a rather memorable day in our lives." He smiled and pulled out a cigarette. "Want lunch? Do you have time before you have to get back?"

"I can get something quick. That didn't take very long."

"All right," Sherlock said as he pulled on John's sleeve to lead his down a side street to a sandwich shop. "Order what you want. I'll get us a cab back so you won't be late."

After lunch, Sherlock dropped John off at the surgery and went to do his errands. Just because Mycroft was in charge of the official proceedings didn't mean that Sherlock couldn't take some control over the only wedding he'd ever have. Once he was finished, he made his way home, putting his purchases into his bedroom and flopping down on the sofa to wait for John.

John went back to work and ate at his desk before taking patients again. His mind kept drifting back to the store, to the rings. What had he expected when he slipped the ring on Sherlock's finger? Why had he done that? This was a job, Sherlock didn't see it as anything else, and it was foolish for John to see it differently. He glanced down at his finger where Sherlock refused, silently, to put the ring on him. He flexed his hand. It didn't matter. It was work.


	12. Final Details

Around five, Sherlock got up and put the kettle on so it was ready when John got home. He drank a cup of tea while he waited so he boiled the kettle again just as he heard John come in downstairs.

John came upstairs and hung his coat, moving into the kitchen for tea and some dinner. 

Sherlock watched John come in, wondering if something had gone wrong at work. "You all right?" he asked. "Will they not let you take tomorrow off?"

"Hmm? No, it's all good," John said. 

"I've booked us a car," Sherlock said. "Do you drive?"

John shook his head. "No, I don't. I never learned."

"I'll drive then," Sherlock said. He thought for a moment. "I did not know you didn't drive. Maybe there are other things I don't know that I should." He topped up his mug and took it into the sitting room. 

John looked over. "It's hard to know what to mention until it comes up," he said. 

"What else have you not done? Or done?" Sherlock asked. "Tell me the first three that come to mind."

"I haven't smoked a cigarette, I've ditched class before, and I've never read Harry Potter. I refuse to."

"I see," Sherlock said. "Would you say those are three most important things you've never done?"

"Most important? No. You made me choose quickly," he said. "I picked vague, relatable things. I could mention that I've successfully removed a bullet from someone's heart, that I've flown an aircraft despite not being trained, and that I've never had a pet," he said.

"I don't want to get a pet," Sherlock said stupidly. He was suddenly worried again -- there was so much he didn't know, but he was also worried about what John didn't know. 

"Have you had one before?" He asked, facing Sherlock as his food heated. 

"No," Sherlock said. "I've never had a pet, I don't have any tattoos and I've never killed a man."

"I don't have a tattoo either," he said.

"Does that mean you've killed a man?"

"Well, I was in a war, wasn't I?" John reminded him.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, picturing John in action. "I'm sorry," he said quietly without opening his eyes.

John swallowed awkwardly and nodded. "Anyway, let's have dinner, yeah?"

Sherlock got up and moved to the kitchen. John had made him a plate with just a little bit of food. "Thanks," he said softly and sat down at the table. 

"So how was the rest of your day?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "I did what I needed to." He took a small bite of food. "Look, I hate to bring this up but . . . we need to consider our clothing for the weekend."

"Oh, what do you mean?" He asked.

"On Saturday night . . . he said we've got to be dressed identically."

"Identically?" John asked. "Matching suits?"

"Unless you expect me to walk around in one of those ridiculous jumpers that you wear."

"Oh. Should we get up early and go shopping tomorrow?"

"I was thinking . . . if we left early enough, perhaps we could go out with my mother. She'll take us to my father's tailor. It's quite sentimental, I know but . . ."

"Your family's tailor?" John asked.

"Yes, my mother was always quite fussy about all that," Sherlock said. "She . . . it just mattered to her, I guess."

"That's fine," John nodded.

There was an awkward silence -- something normally Sherlock didn't mind, but he felt an urge to end it. "We'll leave in the morning then . . . get in mid-afternoon. Will that be all right?" he asked.

"We need to pick up the rings as well," John reminded him. 

Sherlock got up and put his plate in the sink. He turned on the kettle and faced John as he waited for it to boil. "This'll be okay, right?" he asked.

"Yes," John said, looking up at him. "Why do you keep asking?"

"Because I want to make sure," Sherlock said. "I've spent most of my life trying to escape my brother. This is the first time I've dragged someone else into it." He turned around and poured the tea before bringing it to the table. "I'm unused to being responsible for someone else. 'Someone else' is not frequently of any interest to me."

"Sherlock, I'm a grown man who has made the decision to do this with you. You're not responsible for me. I know what I've agreed to, okay?"

"But I thought that's what marriage was about -- I know it's just on paper, but . . ." Sherlock said. "I guess I'm confusing things . . . sorry."

John glanced over at him and, for the first time, wondered if Sherlock was getting caught up like John had been. "It's okay. I know it's a tricky situation," he said.

"And normally those are my specialty," Sherlock said, trying to lighten things. "Thanks again for making dinner."

"Yeah, of course," he said.

"I might open a bottle of wine," Sherlock said. "It might help me sleep." He got up and found a bottle. "Want some?"

"Yeah, I'll have a bit." John took care of his own plate and moved to the sitting room to get more comfortable.

Sherlock poured them both a glass and carried one to John. He sat down in his chair and took a sip. "So," he said lightly. "If you were getting married in a few days -- which you are -- what precisely would you be hoping your partner would be like?" he asked. "Realistically. You strike me as someone who's thought about this before."

"I don't know . . . when I was younger, I don't suppose I have a certain type," John shrugged. "I just want to be happy. Loved," he said, taking a big sip of wine.

Sherlock smiled. "Thank god you're not writing the vows -- that is so syrupy," he said. ""What does that mean to you, to be happy? What would a person need to do to 'make you happy'?"

John shrugged. "I feel like if they loved me, that would make me happy. Everything else is just…filler, you know?"

Sherlock took a sip of wine. "I suppose I don't," he admitted. "I've never thought about any of this. I never felt the desire to be loved and certainly never thought anyone would."

John watched him for a moment and took another sip of wine. "And if someone did love you?"

"Then they'd need their head examined," Sherlock said with a smile. "I don't know. How would they? I don't . . . even have friends really. In truth, I've told you more than I've told people I've known for year. How could anyone know me well enough to love me?"

"I don't think you ever know someone completely. You're always learning something." John took a big sip of wine. "I suppose you'll think it's silly, this love at first sight business, but I believe it."

"Love at first sight?" Sherlock asked, surprised. "You're saying you don't even have to know someone at all to love them? I find that highly suspect."

John shrugged. "There's different levels," he said. "I think you can meet someone and know that they are different, that somehow you were meant to know them and love them. What sort of love depends on the relationship?" He took a drink. "So you've never thought about it? Not even a bit?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I have no reason to lie. I've always been . . . a solitary creature."

John nodded. "Is that what you've wanted? Are you happy?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and finished his drink. "I don't know what happiness is," he said. "So should I answer yes or no?"

John gazed at him for a long moment. His chest tightened at the words -- he started second guessing going through this with Sherlock. If he'd never actually experienced real love, would this be too much for him? He could get hurt badly -- this wasn't some jaded man who's seen enough to brush off fake love. He took a deep breath and realised he'd been staring too long. He drained his glass. "What do you feel right now? This very second?"

"Not drunk enough," Sherlock said, getting up and bringing the wine bottle back. He topped up his glass. "I didn't mean that -- I was trying to make a joke," he said stupidly. "What do I feel right now?" he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Anxious," he said honestly, surprising himself a little.

"Me too, to be honest," John said. He poured himself a second glass of wine. 

"Why won't your family be at the wedding?" Sherlock said as he lifted his head up and looked over.

The question surprised John. "There's not much family left," he said vaguely. He hid behind his next drink of wine. Selfishly he wouldn't be telling his mother about this. It was fake, so why get her excited and worked up for nothing? And his sister . . . that was a whole other story he hoped he wouldn't have to share. It was slightly embarrassing, and he simply wanted to avoid it. 

"What? They're dead?" Sherlock asked.

"What? No," John said. "Well, my dad is, for a while now. It's just my mum and sister. They live far," he said. 

"So that's what we're going to say -- they live too far away?" Sherlock asked. "I'm just trying to anticipate questions."

"Exactly. We've only just gotten engaged, the wedding is very sudden and she couldn't make the trip."

"Why's the wedding so sudden?"

"Well, we weren't planning for Sunday, were we?" John said. 

"No, I mean, what are we going to tell people if they ask?"

"Oh. We're so in love we simply couldn't wait, and your gracious brother helped us make our dream come true," he smiled. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "So . . . I've got another question. How do I . . . appear to be so in love? Should I do something with my face or just touch you all the time or what?"

"Um, yeah. You said we have to be in the same room at all times so we'll hold hands, smile a lot, kiss . . ."

"Anything else? Am I supposed to call you 'darling' or something?" Sherlock asked, pulling a little face.

"I don't like darling," he said. "Love, maybe? Or babe?"

Sherlock laughed a little. "So if I call you John, it means I'm not in love you?"

"Obviously not," John laughed.

"Fine, darling," Sherlock said. "How are you going to ensure my family you're in love with me?" he teased.

John smiled wider. "Let's not ruin the surprise," he said.

"I don't like surprises," Sherlock said. "You can mention that -- everyone who knows me knows I don't like surprises."

"Don't worry, yeah? You have to trust your husband," he smiled.

Sherlock looked over. "Perhaps I do," he said. "I wonder why."

John drained his second glass. "Because you love me," he teased.

"Right," Sherlock said. "For a minute, I forgot." He smiled over at him.

"Definitely don't mention that," he smiled.

Sherlock took a few sips of his drink, realising he was beginning to relax a bit. "You know, I quite like your living here," he said. "I'm not saying you won't annoy me in the future -- you probably will but not before I annoy the hell out of you. But so far, I quite like it."

John laughed. "Well, I won't pretend I don't like it here. This is the perfect flat," he said. "And you're not so bad."

"Yet," Sherlock said. "I think I might go to bed . . . I'm hoping I can sleep. Should we aim to leave by 10, yeah?"

"That sounds good. I should go up as well." John stood and stretched before taking his glass to the sink. "Good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock got into bed. He wasn't drunk, but he was pleasantly drowsy. He no longer felt anxious -- he wasn't thinking about his brother at all. He was thinking about John and how glad he was John lived here.


	13. Violet

When Sherlock woke up, his first thought is that today his life was going to change. It was a very big thought to have before his eyes were even open. He lay still for a bit, concentrating on his breath, and then he got up. He used the toilet and then decided to quickly shower. He wrapped his dressing gown around him and went to make tea. He poured two cups and carried one upstairs, tapping on John's door. "I've got tea," he announced.

John bolted up in bed. His mouth was open a bit, and he wondered if he'd shouted already or had just been about to. He rubbed his face hard and cleared his throat. "I'll be right down," he called.

Sherlock turned and carried the mug back down the stairs, setting it on the table and retrieving his own. He looked over at his desk but settled into his chair, taking a sip of tea and then breathing again.

John got up and took a quick shower before getting dressed and bringing his bag down as well. "Sorry, I hope we're not off schedule," he said, taking a drink from his mug.

"No, sorry -- I didn't mean to rush you," Sherlock said. "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "Did you?"

"Surprisingly, I think I did," Sherlock said. "I'm not dressed yet . . . obviously. But I've showered so I won't be too long. I did want to ask you -- do you like silence or music or what in the car?"

"Oh, anything is fine with me," John said. 

"Good," Sherlock said and then finished his tea. He stood up. "All right," he announced. "I'll go get ready." He went into his bedroom and got dressed. He pulled some clothes from his wardrobe and grabbed a few books. He got out the bag of items he'd picked up the other day and put everything into his case before emerging and announcing it was time to go.

John grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock out of the flat. This was happening. It seemed a lot more real now, and he felt a spike of nerves as they got into the car.

They headed down to pick up the rings before getting on their way. "I'd like the radio off for the first hour. Then there's a programme I'd like to listen to," Sherlock said and then added, "We can talk, though, until then. If you'd like."

"All right," John said. He shifted to get more comfortable in the seat. "Should I have brought something for your mum?"

Sherlock glanced over. "I don't know -- is that the kind of thing you should have done?" he asked quickly. "I don't know what the rules are, but if that's one of them, then yes. We can stop and get flowers, I suppose." He took a deep breath. There were too many things he didn't know about all this, too many rules. His mother would know the rules. Would his brother?

"Flowers would be perfect. Don't panic, okay? Even if I don't bring anything, it'll be fine."

"No, we'll get something," Sherlock said. He stared ahead at the road. "Can we talk about something else?"

John nodded and changed the subject, asking Sherlock about some of his older cases. He wanted to know more about Sherlock's family and Sherlock himself, about where he grew up, but it all seemed to make Sherlock nervous so John avoided it. 

At some point John started drifting off, leaning towards the window. He tried to stay awake. The movements of the car didn't help. And then he was falling in a dream . . . the same as always, in the desert, only Sherlock was there now. John reached out, whimpering softly before a bump in the road knocked his head on the window. He snapped awake and blinked in embarrassment.

"What -- what's happened?" Sherlock said, looking over quickly. "What's wrong with you?"

John shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "Nothing. I'm fine," he said. "Are we almost there? I need the bathroom."

"That didn't seem fine," Sherlock said under his breath. "It'll be another hour, I think. Do you really need me to stop or are you just being childish?"

John glanced over. "I can wait," he grumbled, looking out of the window. He tried to take deep breaths subtly. His mind raced to what would happen if he had his usual nightmares at Sherlock's. 

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "You missed a good programme," he said. "I didn't want to wake you."

"What was it about?" John asked, looking out of the window. 

"How to have a successful marriage," Sherlock said. "I wanted to listen to it to make sure I do right by you."

John looked over. "Are you lying?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "How did you know?"

"Your voice was different -- it sounded different," he said.

Sherlock laughed. "Right," he said. "And it had nothing to do with the bollocks I was talking?" He glanced over and smiled. 

"No, it was your voice," John said. "I can always tell."

"You act like I've done nothing but lie since I met you," Sherlock said. "God, I'm bored . . .that nap I took didn't help a bit."

"Very funny," John laughed.

Sherlock moved the car over to get off the motorway. "It won't be long now actually -- start watching for places we can get some flowers." John looked out of his window again and pointed out a flower shop when he saw one.

Sherlock pulled in. "I'll pay but you pick it out," he said. John followed Sherlock into the store and picked out a colourful bouquet of different flowers. A few minutes later they were on the road again.

"God, she's going to love you," Sherlock muttered. "You are precisely the kind of son she always wanted."

"Don't say that," John said. "I just know the rules, like you said."

"Thank god one of us does," Sherlock said. "Look -- I have to say I have literally no idea how my mother will act. This is an unprecedented event. If she's…suspicious or nosy or overly friendly, just . . . do your best, all right?"

John nodded. "We got through with your brother. We'll be fine," he said.

"But he's barely human," Sherlock said. "I -- you're right, we'll be okay." He pulled the car into the drive and turned off the car. He looked over at John. "We'll be okay," he said again and gave him a smile.

John looked at the house. It was huge. "This is . . . wow," he murmured. 

"Don't make a fuss," Sherlock said as he climbed out of the car. "We'll come back for the bags. Bring the flowers and let's get this started."

John glanced at him and kept his wonder to himself. He selfishly thought about the money for the first time in days. If the house looked like this he couldn't imagine what Sherlock's inheritance was, and what that meant for John's share. He stayed close to Sherlock and held the flowers in his free hand.

Sherlock let them in the front door and called out to his mother. "We're here," he said as he took his coat off and hung it up before doing the same with John's.

"Sherlock!" his mum called from upstairs. "You were supposed to call on your way!"

"I forgot," Sherlock said. "Are you coming downstairs or not? You're being terribly rude."

She came downstairs, fussing her hair a bit. "Oh you, shut up," she said lightly. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then turned to John. "So this is John," she said and held out her hand.

"Oh," John shifted the flowers into the same hand holding his cane before shaking her hand and smiling. Her eyes were the same as Sherlock's. "Hello, it's nice to meet you. Uh, these are for you," he said, handing her the flowers.

"Thank you," she said. "That's kind." She glanced over at Sherlock. "See? Kindness . . . looks like this." She looked back at John and then at Sherlock again and then said, "Come on, come through" as she headed to the kitchen to put the flowers in water.

John followed her next to Sherlock, looking all over the place. 

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and noticed the boxes piled all over the table. "What's this?" he asked as he moved in to put on the kettle. 

His mother shooed him away. "Things for tomorrow," she said, taking over. She set out the mugs and milk and sugar and then asked, "Are you boys hungry?" 

"We need to get clothes for tomorrow," Sherlock said stupidly. "We thought you might want to help -- you're quite good at this business."

"And that's a no from Sherlock," his mother smiled. "And how about you, John? Are you hungry?"

"I am, yeah. I just had some tea before we left," he said. 

"Good -- I'm glad you at least eat," she said as she poured the tea. "Now, Sherlock, really? You're asking your mother to buy your clothes for you?" 

"No," Sherlock said. "We need clothes for tomorrow, and you always made sure Father looked smart so we thought you could come along and supervise."

She smiled as she reached over and clasped his hand. "If you'd like," she said. "But tomorrow's not formal, is it? Mycroft didn't say anything about formal."

"No, not formal," Sherlock said. "It's just . . . we'd like to get something new to . . . present a united front."

"It's a wedding celebration, Sherlock, not a war," his mother said. "But I won't pass up an opportunity to have a say in my son's life -- perhaps we could get some lunch and then go shopping?"

"That work?" Sherlock asked John.

"Yeah, of course," John smiled. She must not know about the matching outfits. He wondered what she would say about it when she saw.

They set off for lunch at the club so Sherlock's mother could check that the catering for tomorrow was all set. Most of the staff fussed over Mrs Holmes, which she took in her stride though Sherlock found it quite uncomfortable. As they walked through to the dining room, Sherlock glanced at John and tried to make a reassuring face. He wasn't sure he'd pulled it off.

"I hear congratulations are in order," the waiter said as he came up to their table. "Shall we celebrate with a drink?" he asked, revealing a bottle of champagne.

"You're too kind," Sherlock's mother said. The waiter poured out three glasses and then took their orders before disappearing.

"To love," Mrs Holmes said and raised her glass. Sherlock looked at John and repeated his mother's words.

"So John," she said. "Can I hear a little bit about how you intend to look after my son?"

John was surprised for a moment, but he hoped it played off as normal nerves. "Well, I like cooking so I'll have him eating a bit more," he smiled. "Um, in all honesty I love him and I just hope I can make him as happy as he makes me." 

She smiled. "That's good to hear," she said.

"It is," Sherlock said. "John's not like anyone I've met before."

"I presumed that was the case," she said. "As I'm sure you know, my sons have never been very much interested in love so I'm quite grateful to the man who broke through that wall."

"Mum --" Sherlock started and then realised he sounded like an insolent teen. "John's a doctor," he said stupidly.

"I know," she said. "Your brother sent me his resume. Very impressive," she said, looking over at John. "But I'm more interested in getting to know John as a person. A son-in-law." She smiled as the server brought the food.

"Well, I feel very lucky," John said. He pulled his plate a bit closer and started eating slowly. 

Sherlock's mum glanced at her son and gave him a smile. The conversation became a little more relaxed as she asked Sherlock about recent cases and he explained John's new blog. It started to feel normal, Sherlock thought, which in and of itself was a strange thought but he couldn't deny its accuracy.


	14. The Suits

Once they'd finished, they stopped downstairs so she could speak to the catering staff and then they were off shopping. Sherlock wasn't entirely open-minded about what they'd buy, but he thought he'd give John first crack at choosing their clothes.

"I was thinking," John told Sherlock while his mum was off looking at clothes. "He said matching but that can be anything. What if we wore black slacks and a nice black coat and then complimentary colors like deep grey and burgundy for the shirts?"

Sherlock nodded, pleased no jumpers were mentioned. He moved over to his mum and drew her attention to some of John's suggestions. She held up a wine-colored shirt and said, "This is good for you. Very handsome." 

He pulled a face but let her fuss him a little. "And this," she said, pulling out a blue shirt and handed it to John. "This is perfect for you."

Sherlock looked over. She was right. 

John smiled. "I'll take your word for it. I'm hopeless with clothes. Sherlock threatens harm to my jumpers constantly," he teased.

Sherlock reached over and found one of each colour in both their sizes. They took the clothes in to try on. "Come out in the blue," he said to John quietly before disappearing behind the curtain.

John nodded before sliding his curtain shut. He'd never worn anything so fine before. He moved carefully as he changed, buttoning on the blue shirt and pulling on his jacket. He came out and knocked at Sherlock's room while Violet fixed John's collar a bit.

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. He looked quite good actually, even though it didn't really matter. He stepped outside John who looked very handsome. Yes, this would show Mycroft.

Violet smiled. "I was right," she said. "Does everything fit? They can sort it if it doesn't." 

John looked over at Sherlock. He looked very handsome. It threw John off for a moment so he almost didn't hear Violet's question. "Oh, yeah, it fits really well actually."

"Do you want ties?" 

Sherlock looked over at John. "Do we want ties?" 

"I don't think so, they look nice like this."

"This is fun," Violet said. "Let me pick out something for you both. Cuff links? Yes, you should have cuff links, I'll go find a pair."

They went back in to change out of the new clothes. John glanced at the prices. "I have my card with me," he told Sherlock when they both emerged.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said. "I'll pay or rather I'll say I'm paying and she'll pay. She does this. It's annoying as it keeps her thinking I'm a child but she'll do it regardless of how much I argue. You don't need to argue as well." He looked around the shop for his mother and saw her at the counter talking to a man. He and John made their way over. There were two boxes there already.

"Congratulations!" the man said as Sherlock approached. "To you both," he added, turning his attention to John. "Would you like to try them on?"

Sherlock glanced at his mother who was smiling. "We just did," he said, handing the man their clothes.

"I meant, the wedding suits," the man said, taking the clothes. "Your brother --"

"Oh, god," Sherlock interrupted and looked over at his mother.

"He does have excellent taste," she said. "And he's being generous -- that doesn't happen very often."

Sherlock took a deep breath, almost afraid to turn his head to look at John. "We'll take them with us," he said quietly.

The man smiled and began ringing up their order. Sherlock did not even bother getting out his card as he saw his mother already had out hers.

John shifted uncomfortably. "It's so much, Sherlock," he whispered.

"I know," Sherlock said, dipping down to speak in John's ear. "But it's all right."

They carried their packages to the car and drove home. Once they got back, Violet said, "I'll make us some tea. You boys go change into your wedding clothes so we don't have any last minute problems. Wait -- is it all right if you see each other beforehand or is it bad luck?"

"Or silly superstition?" Sherlock said. He nodded towards John and they carried things upstairs. He led them into his old bedroom and dropped everything on to the bed. "I do not really want to see what he's chosen," he said, running his hand through his hair. "Knowing him, he's bought a fucking white dress for me."

John opened his box. "Oh. It's not . . . its normal. Nice actually," he murmured.

Sherlock peeked over and then opened his. He immediately recognised the fine material -- it was his father's suit. He pulled it out and held it up; it'd been cleaned and mended, but he knew it was one and the same. When his father emerged from his room wearing this suit, both Sherlock and Mycroft knew he was headed somewhere important. "Oh my god," he mumbled. "He's . . . done something kind."

John looked over. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock nodded, but his brain was still working. "Unless it's a trick, but to what end?" he asked. He reached for his phone but then stopped, as he didn't know what to say to his brother. His brother always had a strategy -- surely this kind act was just part of a strategy, but Sherlock did not know how to respond until he understood what Mycroft was trying to do. "Anyway," he said, bringing his brain back to the room. "We should try everything on and let her fuss over us, I suppose."

John nodded. He leaned his cane on the bed and started taking his clothes off, putting the suit on slowly. It felt very fine, just like the other clothes. He didn't want to imagine how much a proper suit cost. When he finished he turned to Sherlock. "Well?"

Sherlock looked over as he was slipping his father's jacket on. "You look very good," he said. Because John did. He wondered what he'd have thought if he'd seen John looking like that that first day in the elevator. "You do -- very good," he said again.

John flushed lightly and smiled. "Thanks," he said. "You too . . . that looks really nice." He looked Sherlock up and down. "You look handsome."

"Shut up," Sherlock said. "Well, perhaps it'll keep you from get a wandering eye this weekend -- I have some relatives you'll probably fancy but you've got to pretend to be mine for a while at least."

John pretended to be offended. "I'm a loyal and committed fiancé."

"God, because I imagine I'm a jealous bastard," Sherlock said. "Come on, let's go act like children in front of my mother."

John grinned. "Hold my hand," he said as they walked out for her to see, taking Sherlock's before he could answer.

Sherlock gave John a cheeky smile and as they walked into the kitchen to find his mother, he pulled John even closer, sliding his hand around his shoulder. "Well," he said. "How do we look?"

Violet opened her mouth and then lifted a hand to cover it. She looked them over and then covered her whole face with both hands as she started to cry.

Sherlock stepped over and gave her a hug.

"I'm sorry," she said, squeezing him and then stepping back and wiping her face. "I'm sorry," she said again. "You just look . . . so happy."

John looked between the two of them, his stomach twisting again. She looked so genuinely happy. What would she say when she heard about the inevitable 'divorce'? He tried to push the thought from his mind. They couldn't worry about that right now. Maybe they wouldn't have to divorce. If they got along so well maybe they could just keep up the charade forever. He looked away, embarrassed as if they could hear his thoughts. What was he thinking? That was crazy. Maybe Sherlock wasn't the one he needed to worry about getting caught up in it all. He cleaned his throat. "We should change before we ruin them, yeah? And we can bring the bags in as well."

"Right," Sherlock said glancing at John, who looked uncomfortable for some reason. He looked over at the clock. "What do you want to do about dinner?" he asked John. "We ate lunch quite late, but I . . ."

Violet interrupted him with a suggestion. "You had a long drive today and we've got a long day tomorrow," she said. "You two go up and change and I'll make us a snack and then we can all have an early night. All right?" She looked at John and then at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John. "All right?"

"Yes, that sounds good," John smiled. He thanked Violet and turned to lead the way back up to change. He removed the clothes carefully. 

"We should hang everything up," Sherlock said. He pulled open his old wardrobe which was now mostly empty. "I'll bring the bags in after we have our tea."

"Okay," John said, moving his suit to hang in the closet. 

They both went back down where Violet had laid out biscuits and cheese and some things for sandwiches. Sherlock took a sip of tea and then headed out to get the bags.

John made a half sandwich and snacked on biscuits while he waited for Sherlock, chatting with Violet. He asked about Sherlock's childhood and smiled softly as he told funny stories about experiments and explosions and, making John laugh loudly, Pirate Sherlock raiding her purse for gold. 

Sherlock slung the bags across both shoulders and then locked up the car. He considered setting them down again and having a cigarette, but then thought about John on his own inside and made his way in. He set things down near the stairs and wandered back into the kitchen. He topped up his tea and took a bite of cheese. "Which room should I put John's bags in?" he asked his mum.

She looked up at him. "Yours, obviously," she said. 

That was not the answer Sherlock had expected at all.

Violet looked over at John. "We're not prudes here," she explained. "And even if we were, you'll be married in less that 48 hours so what's the difference?" she added with a wink.

John smiled awkwardly and looked over at Sherlock. He seemed to be quietly panicking. "That's great," he said, getting up to grab his bag.

"Yes, we'll go up," Sherlock stuttered as he grabbed a few biscuits. "What time does all this kick off tomorrow?"

"Well, people will begin arriving around four, I think," Violet explained. "But I'll need your help in the morning." She gave him a kiss and then walked over and gave John one. "Welcome to the family," she said and winked.

"Thank you," John said, following Sherlock up the stairs.


	15. Sherlock's Room

When they were out of earshot John said, "If we arrange some pillows I can sleep on the floor." 

Sherlock didn't say anything until they got into the room and shut the door. "I can sleep on the floor," he said. "I struggle to sleep anyway, there's no reason for you to suffer."

"I don't want to make you do that in your own house," John said. 

"It's not my house," Sherlock said. "Besides, I've slept on this floor before."

John bit his lip and nodded. "Okay, but tomorrow we will trade, yeah?"

"Deal," Sherlock said. "I'm going to go get ready for bed. I'll use the other bathroom so you can use the one right out here if you want."

"Okay," John said, moving to get his toiletries out of his bag. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking everything back to his bag again before stripping down to his pants and undershirt for bed. He climbed in under the covers and sighed at how soft everything was.

Sherlock stopped and grabbed some blankets and extra pillows and came back into his room. He lay them on the floor next to the bed. "I'll sleep on this side so you don't step on me if you get up in the night," he said.

"I'll remember you're there," John said, turning on his side to get comfortable. 

"If I read on my phone or something, will it keep you up?" Sherlock asked as he turned off the light.

"Not at all," John said. 

Sherlock lay down and tried to get comfortable. He didn't really succeed. After a few minutes, he said, "John? Are you still awake?"

John opened his eyes slowly. "Yeah, what's up?" 

"What did you think of my mum?"

John smiled. "She's very nice. Fun," he said. "She really adores you -- I learned some fun things about you."

"Hmm, you probably don't want to believe anything she says," Sherlock said. "It's kind of odd having you here," he said wistfully. "I've never brought anyone to this house." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's good though, I mean. Just unusual. Like all this, I guess."

John couldn't imagine what this felt like, but he hummed softly all the same. "Well, I hope I can live up to it and I don't disappoint you," he said quietly. He was glad it was dark and they weren't looking at each other. 

"You haven't yet, John Watson," Sherlock said, knowing he really meant it.

"Thank you, Captain," John said, biting his lip as he grinned into the pillow.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He recognised the smell of his old room and remembered what it'd felt like sleeping in here before when he was a child. Now he was an adult who was getting married. He rolled onto his side and wondered if he'd be able to sleep.

John closed his eyes and let himself drift off. The bed was comfortable and warm. He felt good, happy even. A small worry bashed at his brain that he ignored -- he felt good. It should be fine. He slept soundly for most of the night. Then, the nightmares. He was in the desert -- gun shots, explosions, and yelling. He couldn't move quickly, sinking into sand. Then a sharp, burning pain in his shoulder --

His eyes snapped open. He knew he'd shouted out, he could feel it. He panted, his eyes wet as he quickly tried to blink tears away. He tried to listen, praying Sherlock was an extraordinarily heavy sleeper. 

"What's wrong?" Sherlock said. He had lifted his head when he heard John's noise but for some reason he didn't sit up just yet.

John shook his head. "Nothing," he murmured.

Sherlock lay there for a moment and then sat up. In the dark he could see John's body on the bed. Something seemed wrong. He climbed up on the mattress and said, "You're lying."

John shifted and turned away from him, trying to breathe normally. "I'm fine," he said. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. He leaned back against the head board. "A marriage built on lies, John. Is that what you want?"

"Seeing as our marriage itself is a lie I think I'll take my chances," John snapped lightly. He closed his eyes again as his jaw tightened. 

"Hurtful," Sherlock said. He fiddled with the covers. "You know . . . you're the first person to ever be cruel to me in this room," he said. "At least my brother had the decent to abuse me from out in the hallway."

John took a deep breath. "Sorry," he said softly. He swallowed hard. "I had a nightmare."

"John, we don't have to do this. If it's making you worry so much, if it's disrupting your sleep…"

"You think this wedding game is making me shout in my sleep?" John asked, unable to help sounding incredulous. "I'm having nightmares about the war, Sherlock. About being shot. I have them almost every night."

Sherlock sat up a bit, surprised by John's sharp tone. He reached over and touched his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sorry, John," he said quietly, pulling up his legs so his knees pressed against his chest. "I didn't know."

John tensed at his touch. "It's fine," he murmured. "I just need a few minutes and I can sleep again."

"I'm sorry for touching you," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry for not knowing. I'm sorry I don't know what to do to help. . . because I'd really like to actually."

"I don't mind . . .about the touching, I mean. The helping -- there's nothing to do to help, unfortunately." 

"Have you ever let anyone try to help you?" Sherlock asked.

"You know I have. My therapist," he said. 

"But she was never there, right, when it happened," Sherlock asked. "Unless you've slept with your therapist, which makes me question your judgment and her ethics."

"I haven't slept with my therapist," John said. "And no, no one has ever been there."

"Well, I'm here now," Sherlock said. "Maybe I could help." He slid his legs down the mattress and tried to get more comfortable. "If you'll let me try."

John lay very still while Sherlock moved around. Then he moved and turned to face Sherlock. "How?" He asked. 

"I told you I once slept on the floor of this room and you didn't ask why. How come?"

John shrugged. "Kids fall asleep in all kinds of odd places," he said.

"Weren't you even curious?" Sherlock said. "You struck me as the curious type. Was I wrong about you?"

"Why did you sleep on the floor, Sherlock?" John asked. 

"Because when I was a child I used to have nightmares," Sherlock said. "I stopped having them when I started sleeping on the floor." 

John sighed. "I told you to take the bed from the start," he said, moving to get up.

Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's arm to pull him back. "You're quite bad at being helped, John Watson," he said lightly. He waited until he'd settled back to continue. "My nightmares were about something that lived under my bed. I don't even know what I thought it was, but I guess I'd convinced myself that it lived under there, waiting for me to sleep so it could hurt me. Eventually I reasoned that I needed to be assured that nothing would come out from underneath the bed and hurt me so if I were to sleep on the floor, I could see with my own eyes that there was nothing there. And then I didn't need to be afraid anymore." He swallowed awkwardly. He'd never told anyone about that -- he was pretty sure not even his brother knew. "What is the thing that's scaring you, John?"

John looked down at the mattress. "Things I've seen. Things I've done," he said quietly. "Things that happened to me."

"Real things then," Sherlock said. "Not so easy to disprove as monsters under the bed. I'll tell you what --" he said, lifting the covers and sliding his legs underneath them. "I'm awake now. Why don't you close your eyes and I'll stand guard to make sure those memories don't get into your head while you sleep?"

"How will you do that?" John asked, watching him get more comfortable.

"Well, obviously memories are just atoms that have been imprinted -- they're the things that make up the universe. This is chemistry, John, which is my specialty not yours, so don't worry if you can't understand it. I'll just sit here and if I see any imprinted atoms trying to get into your brain -- which they do via your ear canals, by the way -- I'll make sure to stop them so you can just stay safe and asleep. It's simple really."

John looked at him for a long moment. It was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. But it was sweet and thoughtful. "Okay. Thank you," he said. He closed his eyes again, still facing Sherlock.

"You're welcome," Sherlock said, giving him a little smile. He reached over and touched his shoulder again and then leaned back a little to get more comfortable.

John focused on his breathing, trying to fall asleep again before Sherlock. He dozed in and out, shifting and tossing and turning. 

Sherlock kept watch on John for a while and then closed his own eyes. He knew he wouldn't go to sleep, but he felt strangely relaxed, despite the spectacle he knew would occur later in the day. He wasn't looking forward to seeing extended family, obviously, but it was his brother's presence that he was least looking forward to. But at the moment, he was calm. He opened his eyes again when he heard a noise downstairs. He glanced at his clock, though, he knew what time it would say -- 7:15. All his life his mother had woken up at seven and was downstairs in the kitchen fifteen minutes later. He stayed still, and he soon heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs.

"John," he said softly. "My mum is going to knock on that door in about twenty seconds."

John blinked his eyes open. He'd been sleeping and he didn't remember a single dream. "Get the stuff off the floor," he said before yawning loudly. 

Sherlock leaned down and pushed the blankets out of sight just as his mother tapped on the door. "Morning," she called. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Are you decent?"

"Come in, Mother," Sherlock said.

Violet opened the door carrying a tray. "Good morning," she said brightly. "Did you sleep all right?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, leaning over to take a mug of tea off the tray.

"And you, John?" she asked, handing him the other mug.

"Uh, yeah, great," he smiled. He sipped his tea and thanked her. 

She sat down on the end of the bed. "We don't have a lot to do to get ready, because Mycroft's taking care of most things," she said. "But I'll need some help setting up tables outside."

Sherlock glanced at John. "What all has Mycroft planned?" he asked cautiously. 

"I presume just the things he talked with you about," she said. "Some of it surprised me a little, but I'm so happy to see John's turned you into a bit of a romantic."

Sherlock took a long sip of his tea, cursing his brother in his head.

Violet stood up. "Well, I'll let you two get ready and then come down and help, yeah?" she said and headed back downstairs.

John watched her leave. "So, has he talked with you about any kind of specific, romantic plans?" 

"God, no," Sherlock said. "I have literally no idea what Mycroft's version of romantic is."

"Well, we'll get through it," he said. "Let's go down and help for now."

Sherlock got up and grabbed some clothes. "I'll go change in the other bathroom," he said but before he left, he added, "Did I keep the nightmares away?"

John avoided his gaze, still embarrassed about it all. "You did, yeah," he said. "Thanks."

"Good," Sherlock said. "That's what I'm here for."


	16. Friends And Family

When they came down, Violet was making breakfast so they sat down on the table just as she was bringing over some eggs, bacon and toast. Sherlock nibbled on his food as he finished another mug of tea.

"I'd like to get the tables set up before they deliver the flowers," Violet said.

"What kind of flowers?" Sherlock asked.

"Whatever you and he decided," she said. "Mycroft took care of it all -- I won't lie, I was a bit surprised by his generosity, but honestly, I think he quite enjoyed it. Perhaps he missed his calling."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We'll do whatever you need," he said, looking over at John and smiling.

John ate his breakfast and nodded his agreement. He was curious to see what was in store for them, only a bit worried. He didn't know Sherlock's family like Sherlock didn't and he seemed to be panicking a bit, but then Sherlock seemed to panic about a lot of things John found fine. He'd have to wait and see. 

After they ate, Violet led them out to the back garden and showed them how to set up the tables. 

"Will you be okay with your leg?" Sherlock asked as his mum went back in.

John nodded. "I can manage," he said, testing the weight of the table. "If we move them together I can lift with my free hand."

Sherlock did his best to take most of the weight as they moved the tables. Then they started bringing out the chairs. When his mother back out, he said, "There are too many tables -- this is too much, I think." 

"They're not all for guests," she said. "We'll have the food out here -- it's not a sit down meal. It's just nibbles."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat down for a moment's rest.

"I thought that's what you wanted?" she asked.

"Right," he said. "Sorry -- it's all very nice what you're doing. You know I just don't like . . . people."

She came over and fussed his hair a little. "You like John," she said and gave John a wink.

"True," he said, getting up. "All right, let me get the rest of the chairs."

John looked around before going to help with the rest of the chairs. "It'll be easy staying together if everyone is outside," he offered.

"Do you always have to see the bright side?" Sherlock said with a smile.

"One of us has to," he smiled.

It wasn't long until the flowers were delivered, and Sherlock was pleased to see they were normal, pretty actually--white and gold roses with violets and baby's breath. 

"Oh Sherlock," his mother said, pulling him in for a hug. "How beautiful."

"It was John's idea," he said. "You should be hugging him."

John had to admit he'd expected the worst the way Sherlock had depicted his brother, but this looked really nice. 

Violet moved over and gave John a hug as well. "You're so sweet, I can see why he loves you," she said. She surveyed the garden. "Things look good, don't you think?" she asked.

"Of course, they do," Sherlock said.

"Well, then we should look as good," she said. "I need to go get ready."

John hugged her, glancing at Sherlock at her words. He watched her walk off as the reality of it all sank in. "We should get ready," he said.

They headed up to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock lay down on the bed. "I think I'll stay up here once people start arriving, if you don't mind," he said. "You handle it, all right?" He closed his eyes and turned on his side.

"Given your brother's rule I'd better get comfortable then."

"Fuck, I forgot about that," Sherlock said. He sat up. "This is going to be difficult." He sat up. "Are we wearing the blue shirt? We should--you looked good in that."

John smiled. "Save that sweetness for the family," he teased.

"I am going to be so sweet to you that it will literally make you sick," Sherlock laughed. He stood up. "I'm going to shower -- if I'm going to be next to you for the rest of the day, I'm going to make the most of my last moments of freedom." 

"I'll use the shower here, then. And don't test me, I'm sure I can make you sick first," he grinned.

"I'm already on the edge," Sherlock said. He got into the shower and stood under the hot water. He was still quite anxious about the day, but in a strange way, he felt better knowing John would be beside him the whole time. After his shower, he realised he hadn't brought in his clothes. He wrapped a towel around his waist and shaved before going back into the bedroom. He pulled out his clothes and started to get dressed. 

John took a quick shower, more eager to get ready than anything else. He shaved and brushed his teeth, then fussed his hair a bit so it would sit better when it dried. He came to the bedroom in his towel and smiled at Sherlock while he got his own clothes out to change.

Sherlock felt better as soon as John got back. "You look good," he said, once John was dressed. "I can only assume that I look as good since we look exactly the same."

"You do look good," John smiled. "Everyone will be jealous."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then sat down on the bed to put on his shoes. When they were ready, they headed down. Sherlock put the kettle on and poured two cups of tea, leaving one empty for his mother when she came down, which she did about ten minutes later.

"Mycroft just called," she said. "He's going to be a little late."

Sherlock moved to pour his mum's tea. "You look nice," he said.

"As do you," she replied. "And you too," she added, touching John's arm as she passed.

"Do you think Mycroft's bringing a date?" she asked Sherlock.

"I'd be surprised if he did," he said, handing her a mug. "He's got no reason to."

"What do you mean?"

"Because he just needed to --" Sherlock started, then stopped and thought for a second. "You know how he is? He doesn't think other people matter."

"Well, I'm not sure that's true," she said. "You matter to him." She took a sip of tea. "But I know what you mean."

John wondered if there was a more sinister reason for him to be late, but he tried not to think about that. He sipped his tea and listened to them talking. 

"So what do we do now -- just sit around and wait for people to arrive?" Sherlock asked. "This is boring."

"I was hoping you'd outgrow your impatience, Sherlock," Violet said. She looked at John. "Is he like this at home and are you sure you still want to marry him if he's going to continue being like this?"

John smiled. "You should see him without a case," he teased, glancing at Sherlock to make sure that was okay. "But I love him. He's stuck with me."

"John is not boring," Sherlock said. "That's why we get on so well. But this is boring." He stood up. "I'm going to go outside for a moment."

Violet watched him leave. "He's going out to have a cigarette," she said. "He thinks I don't know--same with Mycroft. Sometimes my sons are both quite childish --I suppose I'm to blame for that. I apologise to you."

"You don't have to," John said. "He doesn't smoke at the flat, not very much anyway. He just has trouble with stress," he said. "Sorry, I know that's still not the best reason," he added awkwardly. 

"Could be worse," she said, taking a sip of tea. "It hasn't been, has it? Worse, I mean."

John's brows furrowed a bit. "No, I'm not sure what you mean," he said.

"Well, that's good then," she said, changing the subject. "Why don't you go out and check on him--you seem to have a calming effect." She glanced at the clock. "The caterers will be here momentarily so if he needs more 'private time' take him round the side, okay?" She gave him a wink.

John nodded, his mind still picking apart her words and wondering what she meant. He went to find Sherlock. "All right?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said, dropping his cigarette butt and stepping on it. "Are people here?"

"Not yet," he said. "Your mum said if you need more time to calm down I should take you 'round back' and help." He winked like she did, grinning at Sherlock. 

"How dare you make my mother sound like a pervert--outrageous!" Sherlock said with a smile. He leaned up against the side wall and looked up into the sky. "Being here makes me feel like a child, I suppose," he said. "It's like slipping into a role--I don't want to but I do it anyway."

"I think all parents make people feel that way no matter how old or accomplished they are."

"I suppose," Sherlock said. "I'm not very accomplished, though. Not like you. Or him."

"Of course you are. You're a detective, that's amazing. Helping the police catch killers?" he smiled at Sherlock. 

"Thanks for trying," Sherlock said. "But…that's not what I mean, I guess." He looked over at John. "My god, we're dressed identically. It's ridiculous really," he said with a smile. "Come on, let's go in."

John nodded and reached out for his hand again. "Let's make it count," he said as they walked inside. 

They walked in together. Violet smiled, just as there was a knock at the door. Sherlock took a deep breath, but a few moments later, she was back, directing the caterers through. "I just saw a car pull up," she said to Sherlock. "Go through and greet them."

Sherlock and John headed to the front. Sherlock peeked outside. "My uncle," he told John. "Boring but harmless." He smiled and pulled open the door just as the family came up. He made introductions as he led them through, encouraging them to move to the back garden. Once they were out, he smiled at John. "So far, so good."

"That's only the first one," John smiled.

"I'm trying to look on the bright side," Sherlock said. "I need a drink actually--want anything?"

"Sure, I'll take a whiskey," he said. "Do you have to leave the room?" he teased.

"Come with me," Sherlock said. "Just in case he shows up. I'm sure there's a bar out there but let's have one on our own."

John nodded and followed him. "Do you have a really big family?"

"Probably," Sherlock said, pouring a glass and handing it to John. "Though a lot of them won't actually be family. To be honest, most of them couldn't care less about me or a wedding." He took a sip. "I guess it's nice for my mum, to see people for a happier reason."

"Seems like a lot to do for strangers who might not care," he said. "But since your mum is so happy I suppose it's worth it."

"It's just the thing that's done, I guess," Sherlock said. "My mum can be quite normal, but this was all part of their world and I guess it shouldn't stop because he's dead." He heard his mum call him from the other room. "Drink up," he said. "You've got to come with me." 

John drained his glass and set the cup down. "Okay, let's go."

Sherlock's mum called again and they stepped out into the back where quite a few people had gathered. She paraded them around a little, introducing them and beaming quite proudly. Sherlock scanned the garden for his brother but didn't see him. He kept his eye on John, smiling stupidly on occasion.

John smiled and told everyone about himself, the same thing over and over again. Economic military, current doctor. They all glanced at his cane, and he ignored it. He held Sherlock's hand, touched his arm when someone mentioned how lovely they looked together, and tried to listen to all the different stories they told.

When they finally got a break, Sherlock offered to get his mum a drink and he nodded for John to follow him. "I'm not sure why he's not here yet," he said. "God, could this be his whole trick -- making us do all this and then realising we didn't actually need to?"

"What would be the point?" John asked. 

Sherlock looked up and there was his brother who was grinning smugly. He turned and took the drink to his mother. "Your son is here," he said under his breath.

Violet slapped his arm lightly. "Play nice," she said. 

Mycroft came over. He leaned in towards his mum in greeting, but didn't hug or kiss her. "So, what do you think of the happy couple?" he asked her.

"They're lovely," she said, lifting her glass in a toast. "Your party's lovely as well -- I'm glad you decided to join us."

"I was working," Mycroft said. "Some of us have to."

Sherlock ignored him. 

"Doctor Watson, how are you enjoying the party?" Mycroft asked.

"You've out done yourself," he said, smiling at him. 

Mycroft looked between the two of them. "I can tell you're in love," he said snarkily. "Your clothes match--very sweet."

Violet looked over, realising they were dressed identically. "They look good," she said. "Stop teasing them."

John kept smiling at him. "The blue does wonders for both of us, really brings out Sherlock's eyes," he said. He turned his smile to Sherlock. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I need a drink," he said and walked away.

"Be nice," Violet said to Sherlock. 

"I've said nothing--it was all John," Sherlock said.

"Sorry," John said. But he was smiling lightly; he enjoyed riling up Mycroft. 

Sherlock smiled back. "He's not done, I can tell, but I appreciate the effort."

"I don't want to overstep but --" John cut off as he heard someone, a woman, shout for a kiss. He almost could have ignored it had it not been followed by everyone banging the sides of their glasses. 

Sherlock looked at John. "What's happening?"

"It's a wedding game--when they clink glasses like that we kiss," he said, as the same woman called out for one again. 

Sherlock looked down at John and then moved closer, kissing John on the top of the head. 

A few people cheered but the noise continued. John tugged Sherlock close and kissed his mouth. The noise gave way to whistles and cheers before he pulled away. He felt very warm and wished he had a drink in his hand. 

Sherlock's face turned red and he looked down towards the ground before making his way to the table for a drink.

John watched him walk off before looking around to smile awkwardly at a few people still watching. He made his way towards Sherlock. "I just wanted to warn you they'll probably be doing that all day," he said, getting himself another drink.

"It's all right," Sherlock said. He took too big of a sip of his drink and his face felt even warmer. "It's all right," he repeated. They stepped away from the table. "It's part of the role, so it's all right." He glanced at John, still hoping he could avoid meeting his brother's eyes.

Violet came over again and the two of them circulated for a little while longer. Eventually they sat down at a table to have something to eat. Sherlock looked around the garden at all of the people -- some he'd known since he was a child and some he wasn't sure he'd ever met before. He wondered how many would be at the wedding. He looked over at John and felt bad once again he was involving him in all this mess, but he was also grateful he was here.

"This is really delicious, you've all done so much," John told Violet. "Thank you."

"It was mostly Mycroft," Violet said. "But I'm glad to have played a part--it's nice to be together for a happy reason." 

Sherlock gave her a small smile. John smiled and finished eating his food. 

After they'd finished eating, Sherlock excused himself to go have a cigarette. Mycroft stood up as well, and Sherlock remembered the agreement. "John, can you join me?" he asked.

"Yeah," he said, standing as well and following Sherlock through the yard

They walked around the house, waving to a family that was leaving. "It won't be too much longer," he said as he lit a cigarette. "I know it's not been bad but I have hated every moment of it."

"Like you said it's almost done now," he said. 

"Will tomorrow be worse, do you think?" Sherlock asked. 

"It's hard to say," he admitted. "We'll be okay."

"I feel like my brother has more tricks up his sleeve," Sherlock said. "This is all too . . . normal for him. Something more is to come."

Sherlock heard his mother call his name. He stubbed out his cigarette. "Let's head back," he said. "In an hour everyone'll be gone and our last day of bachelorhood will be almost over." 

John smiled and took Sherlock's hand again. When they walked out, the glasses started again, the noise surprising him. This time Sherlock turned and leaned down, kissing John on the mouth. "Better, eh?" he said with a smile. He led John over to near the door where his mother was saying good bye to a group of people.

Although it didn't end quite as quickly as Sherlock would've liked, the guests eventually left. All except Mycroft. Sherlock was annoyed as he watched his brother 'supervising' the clean up so he led his mother inside and made a pot of tea, pouring three cups.

"It was a lovely day, wasn't it?" she said.

"It was, Mum," Sherlock said. He glanced at John. "It was -- thank you for all you did for us."

"I'm sure tomorrow will be even more spectacular," John smiled. 

"We haven't put you off, then?" she asked John. 

"Not at all," he smiled.

"Perhaps you should wait to answer until Mycroft leaves," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock --" Violet said. "Be grateful."

"We'll see…"

Mycroft came in as if on cue. "Well, that was quite a show you gave us, Sherlock," he said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock said, joining John and his mother at the table.

Violet glanced at John and then looked at her sons. "We all had a very nice time," she said. "Don't ruin it."

"Thanks for everything," John told Mycroft. 

Mycroft ignored John's comment and poured himself some tea. "So Mother, how are you feeling about what Sherlock is doing to the family?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Violet asked.

Mycroft ignored her question and looked at Sherlock. "Aren't you even a little embarrassed?" 

"Mycroft, what are you talking about?" Violet said. 

Mycroft looked over. "I just mean it appears Sherlock has given up on becoming successful in any meaningful way."

"Mycroft!" Violet said. "I know this may surprise you, but being a good companion to someone you love is quite meaningful. Unless you think my life's been meaningless."

Mycroft hid his face behind his cup, but Sherlock smirked widely.

"Is something going on here?" Violet asked.

No one said anything for a moment, and then Sherlock said, "No."

John focused on his tea, looking between the three of them. 

"Still smoking, I see. Still dipping into other habits when that gets boring?" Mycroft looked at John. "I assume he told you about having to go to rehab -- he had quite the drug problem."

John felt Sherlock tense beside him. He remembered the odd question Violet had asked before. "As a matter of fact, he has. I still love him just the same -- his past is ours now, just like our future. I don't appreciate you trying to drive us apart."

"Mycroft, that's enough now," Violet said quietly.

Mycroft stared at John. "I want to make sure this isn't a ploy," he said. He turned to Sherlock. "You kept passing John drinks . . . did you forget John's sister is an alcoholic?"

John flushed darkly.

Sherlock's mind was racing, fueled by discomfort and anger. He didn't look at John or his brother. He finally said, "Neither John nor I carry our siblings' burdens. Our responsibility is to each other and no one else." He turned his head to Mycroft. "I am not beholden to you."

"It's a shame you feel that way," Mycroft said. "Family is important."

"Family is important," Sherlock agreed. "Which is why I'm here. Acceptance is important as well. John and I accept each other and Mum accepts us as well. Why can't you?"

Mycroft continued to stare at Sherlock unfazed, drinking his tea slowly. 

Violet cleared her throat. "Have you two picked a song for your first dance?" 

John looked over at Sherlock, everything still hanging in the air between them. "Um . . . no," he said. 

"I've got that all sorted," Mycroft said.

"How kind," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"I know we're all grateful for your kindness, Mycroft," Violet said. "Will you be bringing a guest tomorrow? I was disappointed to see you came here alone."

Sherlock smiled but kept it inside.

"I don't think so, Mother," Mycroft said. "You know I find --"

"Shame," Violet interrupted. "Sometimes I wish you were more like your father when it came to compassion." She took a sip of tea. 

Sherlock looked over at John and smiled. John smiled back at him and finished his tea. They were going to have to talk, he knew that. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it but the sooner they got it out of the way, the better. 

Mycroft shook off the conversation and went back into planning mode. He had arranged for a car to pick the three of them up to arrive an hour before the ceremony. As he stood up to go, he motioned for Sherlock to join him. John stood up as well, but Mycroft shook his head. "That rule no longer applies," he said and the two brothers walked out together. Mycroft lit a cigarette and handed it to Sherlock. Then he lit one for himself.

"So you're going through with this -- it's not a game for you," Mycroft said.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said. "He's become a friend and this situation is mutually beneficial so why not?"

"A friend?" Mycroft asked and shook his head lightly. 

Sherlock took a long drag of his cigarette and did his best to ignore the comment.

"I think you misunderstood -- I wasn't asking, I was confirming," Mycroft said. "You're going through with this now. She's involved -- I won't have her hurt. For whatever reason, she's pleased so I need you to be well aware that if you indeed make those vows tomorrow, those vows will stand."

"Forever?" Sherlock asked, annoyed at himself for letting his brother get to him.

"Til death do you part," Mycroft said. "Or at least for the rest of her life."

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft. He had to be bluffing. He finished his cigarette. "Thank you for your generosity," he said. "We'll see you tomorrow."

He walked alone back into the house. 

John looked over at him and smiled when he came in. "All right?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded to John and then looked at his mother. "It's all all right," he said.

Violet smiled and stood up. "Well I think I'm going to head up to bed," she said. "It's been a long day and tomorrow will be another. If you need anything . . . well, just sort it yourselves." She gave each one a kiss and then went upstairs. 

Sherlock watched her go. Then he looked at John. "Do you want to do it here or upstairs?"

"Upstairs," he said, grateful that Sherlock knew what was coming. John followed him up the stairs to their shared room. 

Sherlock turned on one small lamp and then sat down on the bed. "Is the drinking thing a problem?" he asked. "You should have said."

John sat down facing away from him. "Its the reason I don't talk to my sister. She always claims to be getting help but. . ." He took a deep breath. "She's in the middle of an ugly divorce from her wife, she's destructive and . . . and it's a problem." 

"I don't have to drink," Sherlock said. He didn't, but what exactly was he offering? "Do you not want alcohol in the flat?"

"I'm not my sister -- I don't have a problem," he said. He looked over. "Do you want to tell me about the drugs?"

"Not really," Sherlock said. "But I suppose I have to now. It started at university -- I was bored and made poor decisions. I thought I was in control of everything, but I slipped and lost myself, I guess. I came home and they sent me to rehab. I'm not an idiot -- I know where my weaknesses are and I know how to take care of myself now." He paused. "But I suppose this gives you some insight into why my brother treats me as he does."

John nodded slowly. "You're okay now?" he asked. He looked at Sherlock, biting his lip. 

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I know my limits, John, and I do not cross them."

John bit his lip. "You still use?"

"Not for three years," Sherlock said. "I have no intention of quitting smoking and I do like the occasional release that accompanies a few drinks, but I have not used any illegal substance for over three years." He looked over. "I promise you."

John nodded when he heard the truth in Sherlock's voice. "Okay. So . . . so now we both know everything," he said. 

"Do we?" Sherlock said. "Is he going to spring anything else on us tomorrow?"

"I don't have anything else," John said. "You saw the nightmares. Do you have anything?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "No," he said. "You know about my experience and inexperience. I don't know what else there could be."

"So we'll be okay," he said confidently. 

Sherlock thought for a moment -- about what they'd said to each other and what his brother had said outside. "I hope so," he said. "I don't want either of us to be hurt. I just didn't think this would be so complicated."

"This is a big thing we're pretending to do," he said. "What did your brother want? Outside?"

"To harass me," Sherlock said. "I don't understand him -- it's not like the inheritance would go to him. He's already got his. It's just about control. I just want that to end."

"Siblings are complicated," John said. "Let's go to bed, yeah?" he asked, standing to go get ready for bed.

"Yeah," Sherlock said, standing up. "Look, you can have the bed tonight. I didn't mind the floor."

"No, we had a deal," John said, getting his toothbrush from his bag. "Or, you know, we could just share. It wasn't awful," he said casually. 

Sherlock glanced over. "I suppose we could try it," he said. "At least I'll be there if you have any trouble sleeping."

Sherlock took his pajamas with him to the bathroom. He returned a few moments later, climbing into the bed, careful to stay near the edge. He waited for John to get in and then turned off the light.

"Not much of a stag do," he said lightly.

John smiled in the dark. "Should we call a stripper?" He joked.

"Too late now," Sherlock said. He looked over. "Are you into that kind of thing then?"

John shrugged. "I guess, even it's inappropriate," he said.

"Well, I'm not," Sherlock said. "You can do that kind of business in your room, I guess, but I guess I'd rather not see it."

"I won't be doing that -- I mean, I don't just randomly invite strippers over," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "But the other things as well . . . you should keep that away from me if at all possible. I know we didn't talk about it before and maybe I should have said, but just -- I don't want to see it."

John turned to face Sherlock. "What do you mean? Like . . . having sex with people? At the flat?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded. "I'd just rather not know about it, okay?"

"I'm not -- I wasn't planning on that. Or dating," he said. "Besides, I'm not really looking for that right now."

Sherlock wondered precisely what that meant, but didn't ask. Instead he said, "All right then" and turned off the light. He tried to get comfortable. After a few moments, he said, "This time tomorrow we'll be married."

"It's crazy to think about," John admitted. "But also exciting."

Sherlock rolled over to face John. "Exciting? Why?" he asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Neither have I obviously," Sherlock said. "What's the most exciting thing you've ever done?"

"Hmm. My service, I think."

"Were you happy then?"

"For a while, yeah. I always craved that sort of excitement. That's why I was a trauma surgeon," he said.

"Are you happy now?"

John took a deep breath. "I'm working on it."

Sherlock laughed a little. "And you think being married to me will help you on your way?" he asked.

"Maybe. It's bringing some adventure back, that's for sure."

"That's one way of looking at it," Sherlock said. He wiggled around a little. "I'll be glad to get home -- my bed there's much more comfortable."

"Yeah? Mine's about the same as this," he smiled.

"We can get you a better bed," Sherlock said. "I'll get you whatever you want once you're my husband."

"So generous," he smiled. "It's fine. Comfortable. Better than my old bed."

Sherlock sighed. "Quit talking now so I can sleep."

"Rude," he smiled. He shifted and turned his back to Sherlock, closing his eyes. 

"Good night, John Watson," Sherlock said.

"Good night, Sherlock." John took a deep breath and tried not to think about the fact that he was getting married tomorrow. It was very hard not to. 

It took Sherlock a long time to fall asleep. He listened to every sound in the house and in the room. He listened to the sound of John's breathing. He told himself he had to sleep before the sun started to rise and he was able to do so.


	17. The Morning Of The Wedding

John woke up a bit startled in the morning, having dreamt about getting married to Sherlock. He woke up surprised there were no nightmares, and then surprised again that the dream was real. They were getting married today. He shifted and turned to face Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw John's face before him. "Morning," he said, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. "Today's the day."

John smiled softly. "Today is the day. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I am," Sherlock said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm primarily looking forward to getting it over with."

John laughed softly. "Don't worry, I feel the same way," he said. "Are we not supposed to see each other before the wedding?"

"It's too late for that," Sherlock said. "I see you," he added looking intently into John's eyes. He reached over and grabbed his phone. "My mum'll be up in five minutes."

John nodded, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. "Should we cuddle or something?" He asked, fighting a smile.

Sherlock turned his head back to John. "Do you want to?"

John stalled a bit, biting his lip. "I was . . . I don't know. We could, so it looks better," he said.

Sherlock pushed himself up on the bed. "She'll knock before she comes in," he said. He lifted his hands over his head. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did, yeah," he said, sitting up as well. "I need the bathroom," he said, getting up.

"Wetting the bed would not make a good impression on my mother," Sherlock said.

John hit Sherlock with a pillow before walking off to the bathroom.

A few moments later, Violet knocked on the door. "Can I come in?" she asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Morning," Violet said. She looked at the bed. "Where's John?"

"He left," Sherlock said. "Said this family was too mad for him."

"Very funny," Violet said, turning as John came back into the bedroom. "Morning," she said.

John smiled. "Good morning," he said, moving to put his jeans on.

"Did you both sleep well? No cold feet, I presume," she said.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "I intend for this to be the greatest day of my young life. We won't have to stay too late, will we?" he asked.

"Don't be a child," she said. "But no, it won't be as long or as busy as yesterday. Mycroft wanted it more intimate."

"I'm sure he did," Sherlock said. 

John sat on the edge of the bed. "We can start getting ready after breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Sherlock said.

"You'll eat something," Violet said. "I'll go get it started. Come down soon."

Sherlock slid down the bed when she left. "We're going to get bossed around all day, you know that, don't you?"

"I know. Have some breakfast so you don't pass out on me," he smiled.

"Fine, now you're bossing me," Sherlock said, getting up. He grabbed his dressing gown. "I need the toilet -- wait for me before you go down, all right?"

"Okay," John said, watching him leave.

Sherlock returned quickly and they headed downstairs.

"A full English this morning," his mum called as they came in. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I saw that," she said. "The kettle's just gone, pour the tea."

Sherlock poured three mugs and brought two to the table. Violet brought the plates over and sat down with them. "Today will be lovely actually," she said. "Everything's been taking care of. You two just need to walk down the aisle, say a few words, and then the rest is someone else's responsibility."

John smiled and looked over at Sherlock. "Nice and easy," he said.

"We'll see," Sherlock said. He tried to eat some food. He looked over at John. "Don't get too used to good cooking. I did not inherit my mother's talents."

"Don't worry, I'll handle that," he smiled.

"Let John take care of you, Sherlock," Violet said. "He's a doctor and kind and smarter than you."

Sherlock looked at her and then pulled a face at John.

John grinned wider. "Mums know best," he said.

Violet said, "He's right -- I told you he was smart."

"I can't believe the two of you are turning on me," Sherlock said. "On my wedding day and all."

"It's John's wedding day as well," Violet smiled.

"I know that," Sherlock said. "It's ours." He glanced over at him and smiled.

John flushed lightly as he smiled back. "Is Mycroft already here? I hope he's not late again," he teased.

"He's meeting us there," Violet said. "The car will be here in two hours. Will that be enough time for you two to get ready?"

"Oh yes," John said. "We don't take too long."

"Well, I'm not like you -- I need more time so I'm going to go up and start," Violet said. "You can leave the dishes." 

When she left, Sherlock stood up and moved to the sink to begin the washing up as John finished eating. Once he was finished, he said, "I'm going upstairs to think for a bit. You can shower first, okay?"

"All right," he said. "Well I be bothering you if I come into the bedroom after?"

"Not at all," Sherlock said. "Unless you're shouting, I mean. Will you be shouting -- maybe something about how you're the luckiest man in the world?" he asked with a smile.

John laughed. "I think I'll be able to refrain," he said. He washed his plate when he finished and headed up to take a shower. He shaved again just to be sure he looked his best. He walked to the bedroom with the towel around his waist to get his suit.

Sherlock went up and lay on the bed, closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing. He was doing the opposite of thinking actually, he was trying to clear his brain. When John came in, he opened his eyes and looked over. "Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked.

"Is it working?" John grinned.

"Probably not," Sherlock said, rolling on his side. "I've gone a bit sleepy but now I have to get up and marry you and I'm not sure I'm in the mood." He stretched a little.

"Well get it together," he teased. He took his suit out and started getting dressed.

"Bossy," Sherlock said, pushing himself up off the bed. He went off to the bathroom and started getting ready. He did his best to keep his mind clear and just focused on what he was doing. He followed John's lead and wrapped a towel around him before returning to the bedroom.

"Don't get wrinkled," he said to John who was now dressed. "You look nice."

John looked over at Sherlock slightly damp torso. "You too," he teased.

Sherlock pulled a face and moved over to the wardrobe, taking out his father's suit. He got dressed, taking care with each of his movement, and then stepped in front of the mirror to put on his tie. When he was finished, he turned to John and said, "Well?"

John smiled genuinely. "Very handsome."

Sherlock got up and dug through his bag. "Let's go downstairs," he said, pulling out a white box. "I've got something to give to my mother, and if it's all right, you should probably be there."

"Okay," John said, checking his reflection once more before heading down with Sherlock.

Violet hadn't come down yet so Sherlock set the box on the table and made a pot of tea. He carried it over to the table and then poured two cups. "I already feel like having a cigarette," he said to John.

"Not before I have to kiss you," John said, smiling softly. "It's almost done."

Sherlock glanced over at the word kiss. "Yes, well, don't encourage that so much today," he said. "I think you were secretly enjoying it. Or the attention. I haven't quite figured it out yet."

"They're going to be doing the glass thing all day, especially at the actual wedding. Be prepared," he smiled. "And don't pretend you don't like it."

Sherlock stared out the back window at the garden. "I suppose I don't entirely mind it," he said. "If it must be done, I mean."

"Right," he nodded, sipping his tea.

Violet came downstairs. "Don't you two look lovely?" she said, moving over to fuss Sherlock's tie a bit. 

"As do you," he said. "I've made some tea."

"Thanks," she said. She poured a cup and sat down. "What's this?" she asked, motioning to the box.

"A little something we got you," Sherlock said, glancing at John. "To thank you for all you've done this weekend."

"You didn't need to," she said. "Should I open it?"

Sherlock nodded and moved over to stand near John.

Violet slid the ribbon off the box and opened it. "Oh," she said as she pulled a frame from the tissue paper. "Sherlock --" she said and clutched the picture to her chest.

He smiled at her.

She looked at the picture again. "Wasn't he handsome? Oh, William . . ." she whispered. "That was the happiest day of my life." She smiled at the photo for a moment. "Until you boys were born obviously." She looked over at Sherlock. "You look just as handsome in that suit as he did." 

Sherlock moved over and kissed her cheek. John smiled a bit awkwardly and sipped at his tea.

"I hope this day is as happy for you two as that day was for us," Violet said. She wiped her eyes a little and looked once more at the picture.

Suddenly Sherlock felt guilty about the lie. He looked at John, trying to think of something to say. John felt his stomach twist as well. He held Sherlock's gaze. "Neither of us do so well with . . . expression, but we are happy," he managed, if a bit weakly.

Sherlock softened his face as if to say thank you. He glanced up at the clock. "The car will be here soon," he said. "Do we need to take anything?"

"Have you got the rings?" Violet asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, patting his jacket.

"That's all you need then," she said. "Let me get my hat so I'm ready to go."

John stood up and took a nervous, deep breath. "It's happening," he said breathlessly.

Sherlock pulled John's arm and led him outside. He turned and looked into his eyes and said, "I don't know why I picked you, but I'm glad I did. You're the first friend I've ever really had and thank you for doing this for me," he said. "I know it's all ridiculous and meaningless, but it means something to her and I just want to say thank you."

John nodded. "Of course. I -- you're welcome," he said.

Sherlock smiled and stepped back a little. "I trust you," he said. "And I just wanted you to know that . . . I don't know what my brother's going to make us say, but that's the truth and I just wanted you to know that."

"It's okay, Sherlock. I trust you too," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Let's go back in." He opened the door for John and they walked back in.

"You weren't smoking, were you?" Violet asked.

"No, I wasn't smoking," Sherlock said. "Isn't there a rule about your no longer being able to nag me once I'm married?"

"I'll always be able to nag you," Violet said. "Now I just have a man on the inside to help me." She winked at John.

John grinned and patted Sherlock's shoulder.

Violet turned her head. "The car's here," she said. "You ready?"

Sherlock looked at John. "We're ready," he said and they headed out.

As they climbed into the car and got on their way, John wondered when Mycroft would inform them of the rest of this plan. Shouldn't they rehearse? Shouldn't they read over the vows before they do it in front of everyone? How were they walking down the aisle? He stared out of his window and tried not to think about it too hard. 

Sherlock looked over at John. It was clear he was thinking -- was he thinking about changing his mind? He reached over and tapped his arm. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Hmm? Yes, I'm fine," he said quietly. "Just a bit nervous, I suppose."

Sherlock glanced up at his mum in the front seat. "The best day of our lives, right?" he said, with a wink.

John smiled and nodded. He turned back to the window and bit the inside of his lip.


	18. The Wedding

Sherlock turned his head and watched as they pulled up to the church. He recognised a few people standing around the side having a cigarette, and he wished he could get out and join them. The driver got out and opened the door for his mum so he and John got out. Mycroft emerged from the church door and ushered them inside to a small room.

"You'll need to put these flowers on your coats," Mycroft said, motioning to the table. He picked up a small corsage and handed it to his mother. "This is for you," he said.

"It's lovely," she said and leaned in to give him a kiss before he pulled away.

"You'll walk Sherlock down the aisle," Mycroft said. "If that's okay . . . since Father's not here."

Sherlock glanced at his mum who just smiled. "That's fine," she said.

"When will I walk down? Will I be at the altar already?" John asked.

"You'll walk down after Sherlock. Have you brought someone to walk you down?" Mycroft asked.

John flushed lightly and shook his head.

"No matter," Mycroft said casually.

"Please stop getting off on your control issues and just tell us what's going on," Sherlock said.

"I just have," Mycroft said. "When the music begins, Mother will accompany you and then I'll walk with John, that's all there is to it. Afterwards, we'll have some food at the Club. Really, Sherlock, settle down -- you needn't turn this all into such a fuss."

Sherlock glared at his brother. "What about the vows?" he said under his breath.

"Didn't you write your own?" Violet asked.

"Of course they did," Mycroft said. "He just asked me to print them up for them." He moved a hand to his pocket but didn't pull anything out. "Yes, I've got them -- they must be in my other coat. Don't worry, I'll get them to you before the ceremony begins." He gave his brother a smug smile.

John glanced at his pocket and then up at his face. He figured it might be bad decorum to punch Sherlock's brother on their wedding day so he just clenched his fist and nodded.

Sherlock stepped close to John. "So we just wait here until it's time to start," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Could I get a glass of water?" Violet asked, sitting down on a small chair in the corner of the room.

"I'll get you some water," Mycroft said. "People are starting to arrive. Just wait here -- there's no smoking anywhere on church grounds," he added before he disappeared out of the room.

"You okay?" Sherlock whispered to John.

John nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't think much about the walking part -- it'll be okay?" He forgot for a moment this was all fake, feeling genuine nerves.

"We'll be fine. You said so yourself," Sherlock said quietly, trying to give him a little smile. "This is just a ridiculous exercise we need to get through and then everything will be normal again."

"I know," he nodded. He knew he couldn't freak out now. "We'll be fine," he agreed.

They walked over and stood by Violet. "You all right, Mum?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she said. "I'm fine. I just wanted him out of here for a few minutes." She looked closely at her son. "Are you sure you're all right with all this? Today should be about what you two want."

Sherlock glanced at John who had somehow managed to become an incredibly important person to him in such a short time. He was glad they'd met and secretly also a bit relieved there was a reason that John would be staying with him, for a while at least. Sherlock didn't really know how to make friends, let alone keep them. He'd been trying to be a good friend to John, and he hoped he could keep that up because he really enjoying having John around. "The most important thing about today is welcoming John into our family," he said to her. "That's all that matters."

John looked over and smiled, wondering if Sherlock meant that seriously. Even if it wasn't for the wedding and the money, John could see staying with Sherlock. The thought startled him a bit, and he looked away from them.

Violet smiled at them both. "All right," she said, getting up. "I'm going to sneak a peek at the church." She stepped out for a moment and then returned. "Boys, it's beautiful," she said. "It's all just…beautiful." She looked at her watch. "It won't be long." She sat back down. "Now's your chance for any last minute advice -- John, I'm a wise woman as I'm sure Sherlock has told you. Do you have any questions about how to be a good husband?"

John opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Stop pestering him," Sherlock said lightly. "He's about to become the luckiest man on the planet--obviously he can't think straight at the moment."

His mother laughed as Sherlock reached over and squeezed John's arm. Just then Mycroft came in. "We're about to begin," he said. "Everyone's seated and we'll just need to wait here until the music begins."

John moved closer to Sherlock and touched his arm softly. "Almost time."

Sherlock stepped over and held out his hand for his mother to get up. The two pairs moved towards the door. "Are you walking with John?" Sherlock asked Mycroft.

"Of course," Mycroft answered.

"How sweet," Violet said, turning to fiddle with the flower on Mycroft's lapel.

Sherlock looked over at John and gave him a wink and then he and Violet walked out.

"I won't be holding you, if you don't mind," Mycroft said to John.

John snorted. "Yeah, that's fine." He looked over at Mycroft who seemed like he might still be plotting something. John tried to ignore him until they had to walk out.

Sherlock held onto his mother's arm as they walked out. He scanned the church and was pleased to see it wasn't full. However, it did look beautiful -- the flowers were simple but pretty. He walked slowly with his mother and then helped her sit down in the front pew. He turned and waited for John.

Mycroft moved towards the door. "Oh. And we'll be leaving this behind -- we want this to look perfect," he said. He plucked the cane from John's hand and smiled.

"I need that to walk," John said, reaching out for it.

Mycroft leaned the cane on the wall. "Your husband is waiting."

John winced as he moved towards the door, his leg hurting when he put weight on it. Mycroft opened the door. John finally got next to him and looked around at the guests. They were watching him, and it made his face flush. He looked at Sherlock instead.

And then something happened. He held Sherlock's gaze and remembered that this was for Sherlock. Sherlock needed him to do this. Whatever pain he felt he would deal with after this was over. They started walking slowly and John just kept watching Sherlock.

And there was no pain. John didn't feel anything as they walked. Before long they were at the altar. John was looking at Sherlock in amazement, trying to get a more wedding-appropriate look. He reached out and took Sherlock's hands.

Mycroft handed each of them a slip of paper and then took his seat next to Violet. Sherlock kept a hold of John's hand as they turned and the service began.

John didn't understand what was happening, why his leg wasn't bothering him at all. He mentally shook his head to clear it. He tried to focus, but suddenly things felt a bit dreamlike.

Sherlock looked over at John who was looking at him strangely. He turned his eyes to the vicar and tried to pay attention to the words he was saying, but they kind of floated in and out of his ears. Suddenly the vicar was looking at him, and Sherlock realised it was time for the vows. He turned his body toward John's and opened the slip of paper his brother had handed him.

"I, Sherlock Holmes, take you, John Watson  
to be my husband, to have an to hold, from this day forward;  
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer --"

Sherlock looked up at John and gave him a wink.

John couldn't help a small smile at the wink.

"I, John Watson, take you, Sherlock Holmes to be my husband,  
to have and to hold, from this day forward;  
in sickness and in health, to love and cherish,  
until death do us part."

He swallowed hard and ignored the guilt, smiling up at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled at John and they turned to the vicar, who said, "The rings?"

Sherlock reached into his pocket and brought out two boxes, handing on to John. He opened the other and took out the ring, reaching down for John's hand.

"John, I give you this ring," he said as he slid it on his finger.

John's breath caught, surprising him speechless for a moment. He opened the other ring and slipped it onto Sherlock's finger. "Sherlock, I give you this ring," he said.

Sherlock found himself smiling wildly. They looked at the vicar who mumbled a few more words and then said, "You may kiss your husband."

Sherlock turned back toward John, lifting his hands to his face. He whispered, "We did it," and then leaned in and kissed his mouth.

John didn't know if it was nerves because everyone was watching or just caught up in the moment, but he kissed Sherlock properly, bringing his hands up to his face as everyone applauded.

Sherlock was still smiling as he pulled his head back. He turned and looked over at his mother, who was standing and clapping. He held onto John's hand and led him down the aisle. John laughed as he followed Sherlock easily, no pain or anything. It was over. They had really done it.

Once they were out of the chapel, Sherlock turned to John and said, "Thank you."

John smiled wider at him and nodded in response. They were married. They had done it.

Mycroft came up behind them, putting his arm around John. "Well, brothers," he said, emphasizing the s. "Time to greet your guests," he added as he ushered them to the side. People started filing out, coming up to greet them.

"Just smile," Sherlock said, leaning over and whispering in John's ear. "It won't be long now."

John shook hands, accepted hugs and kisses, and said 'thank you' enough times to last a lifetime. Sherlock looked annoyed or uncomfortable, but at least there weren't too many guests.

Once the line had dissipated, Mycroft reappeared.

"Happy?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh yes," Mycroft said with a smug grin. "Your car's waiting outside to take you to the Club. Mother and I will follow."

Sherlock held John's hand as they headed out of the church. Immediately they were pelted with confetti. Sherlock grabbed John close before he realised what exactly was happening. They rushed to the car, Sherlock opening the door for John and then running around the other side.

"My god," he said. "Traditions are ridiculous."

John looked over at Sherlock. "We're married," he said. "We did it."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. "We did," he said. "We are." He gave a little smile and then turned his head to the window.


	19. The Reception

"We're here," Sherlock said. "Only a few more hours and then we'll be back at the house and no longer on show." He got out and opened the door to walk with John. He saw his brother's car pull up, so he waited so they could all go in together.

John kept hold of Sherlock's hand as they all walked in to the hall, greeted by applause again as they made their way to their table at the front of it all. Sherlock pulled a chair out for his mother and then sat down next to John. He glared at Mycroft who also joined them at the front table. Suddenly there was a tinkling of silverware against glass, so he leaned over and gave John a kiss.

Sherlock watched the room, noticing who was speaking to whom and imagining what they were saying. It wasn't long until a bottle of champagne was brought out. The server poured two glasses and gave them to John and Sherlock. 

"Is this okay?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Don't worry," he smiled. 

Sherlock lifted his glass and then tapped it to John's before taking a drink. Everyone applauded again, which was quickly driving Sherlock a bit insane. He leaned over and whispered, "Do you think they'd clap if we fell off our chairs?"

John chuckled softly. "Should we try it? They night just make us keep kissing," he said.

"You'd love that," Sherlock said and gave him a wink.

John could only grin back and raise his glass in a small toast to Sherlock. The atmosphere was contagious -- he felt excited and giddy, forgetting for the first time the stress and worry over this plan. 

The servers started to bring out the food, serving the front table first. "Eat up, brother," Mycroft called. "You'll need energy for your dance."

Sherlock looked away quickly, concentrating on his food.

"Just ignore him. It's our day, after all," John said to Sherlock quietly.

"Are you a good dancer?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "Not formal dancing. We might be in trouble."

"I'm an excellent dancer," Sherlock stated. "He's just trying to mock me by revealing something I normally don't like doing in public."

"Oh," John said surprised. "I'll follow your lead, then."

Sherlock gave a little nod. He leaned over to talk to his mum for a few minutes, checking to make sure she was enjoying her dinner and letting her fuss him and John about the ceremony. There were a few breaks for kisses, and Sherlock was actually starting to find it a quite natural thing to do.

As they finished eating, John thought of a whole new list of things he'd forgotten were part of weddings, like whether they would be cutting a cake or giving speeches. There were no best men, but Sherlock's brother was at the table with them. Would he speak? Would they have to? He tried to think of something just in case.

Sherlock was keeping his eye on Mycroft. So far most of the whole weekend had actually been pretty pain-free; surely he was planning something incredibly humiliating. Once the dishes were cleared, he noticed the appearance of more bottles of champagne -- this time everyone was getting a glass. Then he saw his brother stand up.

"Dear friends and family," Mycroft said. "We are all here to celebrate the marriage of my dear brother and his new husband." He paused until everyone was looking at the table, primarily at Sherlock and John. "I, of course, was rather surprised at the news, but Sherlock has assured me that neither of them is pregnant so it's good to know that this wedding is about true and undying love."

There was a titter of laughter from the guests, and Sherlock felt his face burn red.

"I remember when my brother and I were young," Mycroft continued. "He was never much interested in other people -- except tagging along with me, of course -- until he was about ten when I presume he somehow stumbled upon the concept of puppy love. I can remember his describing his ideal partner as someone who enjoyed dancing, romantic walks, dissecting frogs, and giving him 'lots of kisses'." Mycroft lifted his hand to make air quotes as the crowd clinked their glasses once more. Sherlock leaned over to kiss John, but his eyes were glued to his brother who was now looking directly at him.

"Naturally I tried to persuade him to give up such ridiculous notions, but alas he did not," Mycroft said. "And now it appears he's met the man who likes dancing, walking and dissecting as much as he does. So, dear brother, I wish you and John a long and healthy marriage. I hope the two of you will never part." He lifted his glass.

Everyone clapped and lifted their glasses. Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, but then he noticed his mother looking at him, clearly suggesting that he get up and make a toast.

Sherlock pushed himself up out of his seat. "I want to thank you all for coming and thank my brother and, of course, our mother," he said. He paused before going on. "I am also naturally thinking of my father who . . . brought John and me together. I wish he were here with us." He coughed a little and then turned to John. "To you, John Watson. My first and best friend and now my husband. Thank you." He lifted his glass before taking a drink.

John had listened to Mycroft speak, looking around the room and then at Sherlock, wishing he could read Sherlock's mind at the moment. John didn't know any of these people, and it was hard to know what was real and what was just a jibe at Sherlock. It surprised him a bit how protective of Sherlock he'd become in the short amount of time they've known each other. When Mycroft finished John applauded politely with everyone else and before he knew it Sherlock was being nudged to his feet. That meant John would have to go next and so far he had nothing prepared. And he couldn't really think of anything at the moment because he was too curious to hear what Sherlock was going to say. It was short and to the point, the last part directed right to John. 

John stood and glanced at Sherlock, catching the slight surprise in his eyes at the fact that he had stood so easily. The cane was nowhere to be found. Watching Sherlock, words rose up to John's mouth and he let them go. It was a wedding after all. "I'd like to start by thanking Mycroft and Violet for everything they've done to make this day possible, and of course all of you for coming to celebrate with us." He looked at Sherlock and got embarrassed so he looked around at the strangers again. That was easier. "I recently came back to London injured and alone, and to be honest a bit bitter about the hand I'd been dealt. I was prepared to accept things as they were when I met Sherlock. There was no tip toeing around me, no coddling. He was all about his work, and his work was an adventure he decided to share with me." He cleared his throat softly. "He saved me, this clever, brilliant detective. It's no wonder I fell in love with him--" His voice caught as the weight of these words settled on him. He didn't know what was a lie anymore. "And I very much look forward to the adventures still to come. Thank you." He rushed the end a bit, taking a long drink from his glass before sitting down again. His cheeks were flushed but he glanced at Sherlock and hoped he wasn't upset. Even more he hoped Sherlock hadn't realised that John had lost sight of things for a moment. 

Sherlock watched John speak but looked down at his glass as he wrapped up his toast. For some reason, he thought he might actually cry, which was stupid and uncharacteristic, and which he was definitely not going to allow himself to do.

His mother saved him by standing up as well and thanking everyone again. Then the lights dimmed and Mycroft announced that it was time for their dance. The music began to play. Sherlock knew he had no choice in the matter so he stood up and took John's hand, leading him to the open area. He slid a hand around John's waist and then leaned in. "Follow me as best you can," he whispered. "I love dancing, John, and as you said, this is our day so let's enjoy it."

John held Sherlock's hand and rest the other on his shoulder. "Lead on, husband," he smiled. 

Sherlock kept them almost more swaying than dancing, before adding a few steps to move them across the floor a little. "I bet my mother's crying," he whispered. "This was the song she and my father danced to. I have to hand it to my brother, I suppose."

John glanced over and smiled softly. What were they doing? Once again, this lie seemed too big, too out of control. He looked up at Sherlock again, and those thoughts disappeared.

"Of course what he said about me as a child, all of that was a lie," Sherlock said. "We never talked about that sort of thing. But if I have to have a husband, I'm glad it's you."

John flushed lightly and nodded. "I'm glad it's gone so well. I'm glad you're so good," he said quietly as they danced.

"I'm not good, John," Sherlock said. "But I'm better now that I've met you." He turned them in a little twirl. "And married you," he added as he pulled John back towards him.

John's cheeks burned darker and he couldn't manage a reply. He focused on the dance, on holding Sherlock and being close to him. 

When the song ended, everyone clapped loudly and the lights came back up. They walked back to the table and the servers started bringing out pieces of cake. Violet pulled Sherlock over and gave him a kiss and then gave John one, too.

John smiled at her and then looked past her to Mycroft. "I'll dance with you, too," he offered. Mycroft looked at him like he'd sprouted a second head, making John laugh happily as he ate his cake. Sherlock laughed as well. He leaned over and gave John a kiss, before pulling back quickly. His mother smiled but his face went red again.

Fortunately the festivities ended soon after. It wasn't long until they were climbing back into the car and heading home. Mycroft was driving Violet so Sherlock still wasn't entirely at ease, sure that his brother would have one last trick up his sleeve, but he was at least glad the public performance was over with. 

"You okay?" he asked John.

"Hmm? Yeah," he smiled. "Yeah, I'm okay. How about you?"

"Tired," Sherlock said. "I'd just like to be home and no longer on show."

"Yeah, that will be good," he said. "You're a good dancer."

"I know," Sherlock said. He looked over. "You didn't do too bad." He leaned back and loosened his tie a little. "I've rarely danced with someone else actually."

"If you want you can sneak a cigarette at the house," John teased. 

Sherlock smiled and then leaned forward. "If you can get us back quickly, I'll make it worth your while," he said. He looked over at John. "Thanks," he said.

When they got back to the house, Sherlock gave the driver twenty quid and they hurried inside. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair and then motioned for John to go out with him. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "Do you feel different?" he asked.

"Yeah," John said. "I know you noticed. Your brother wouldn't let me walk with it down the aisle." 

"Why do you think it's happened?"

John shrugged. "I saw you up there and I knew everything would be ruined if I didn't get there. I promised you I'd help," he said. He looked up at Sherlock and shrugged again. 

"Well, if I played a role at all . . ." Sherlock said. "It did make the dance easier." He took another drag off his cigarette. "We've done a lot of kissing," he said, looking up at the sky. "I hope I've been all right, despite my lack of experience."

"It's been fine," John said.

Sherlock stubbed out his cigarette. "Let's go inside and get some tea ready," he said.

"Do you feel a bit better?" John asked. 

"I do," Sherlock said. "I know it's not late but I'm happy to go to bed as soon as possible." He swallowed awkwardly. "I mean because I'm so tired."

"Sure that's what you mean," he laughed softly. 

Sherlock filled the kettle. "Are you mocking me?" he asked.

"You kissed me once without glasses tinkling," he grinned. 

"I did not," Sherlock said. He glanced toward the door. "They're home. Stop talking about kissing."

Violet came in with Mycroft following close behind, carrying a few of the flower displays.

"I've made tea," Sherlock said.

"Oh thank you, son," she said, moving in and sitting down at the table. "What a wonderful day," she said, reaching over and touching John's hand.

John covered her hand for a moment. "Everything was very nice," he agreed. "Thank you again."

"Well, you're family now," Violet said.

Sherlock looked over at the two of them and then looked at his brother. "What do you think of that?" he asked.

"I'm pleased to just have a relatively normal brother," Mycroft said. 

"Mycroft," Violet scolded. "It was such a nice day -- don't the two of you start bickering."

"It was a lovely day," Mycroft said. "What do you think of that?" he asked Sherlock.

"I --" he started but then stopped when he met his mother's eyes. "I appreciate your good choices," he said.

"Yes, they were good, weren't they?" Mycroft said. 

Violet looked at her sons. "Well, I'm glad we're all in agreement about that," she said. "So are you two going on a honeymoon?"

Mycroft made a little laugh. "An excellent question -- I presume you're jetting off to a sun-soaked beach or other romantic getaway?"

Sherlock looked over at John. "We've both got work this week," he stuttered. "No time, I'm afraid."

"We'll plan something eventually. There's no rush," John said. 

Mycroft watched the looks between John and Sherlock. "Well," he said finishing his tea. "I think it's about time I leave you two lovebirds. I've done my best to tolerate all this romance, but I think I've had my fill."

Violet pulled a face. "I had hoped that John and Sherlock might have inspired you to go out and find someone to love," she said.

Sherlock smiled. "Perhaps I could introduce you to someone," he said.

"You've become more stupid ever since you got married," Mycroft said and stood up. "Perhaps I shall you later in the week?"

"Don't trouble yourself," Sherlock said.

"No trouble," Mycroft said. "Nothing is too much trouble for you and my new brother." He leaned in to kiss his mother goodbye and then left.

"It really was kind of him to do all this," Violet said.

"I wonder why he did it," Sherlock said.

She pulled a face at Sherlock now. "I wish you two would . . . oh it doesn't matter. Nothing's going to ruin this day." She finished her tea. "I think I might go up to bed. You won't leave too early in the morning, will you?"

Sherlock looked at John. "Perhaps we could take you out for breakfast before we go?" he offered.

"That'd be nice," she said. She gave them both a kiss goodnight and then disappeared upstairs.

"It's over," Sherlock said to John. "We can be normal again."

"Normal," John echoed. He took a deep breath. "What are we going to do?" he asked softly, looking up at Sherlock. 

"Go to bed," Sherlock said.

John held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding and turning to put his mug in the sink. "Let's go."


	20. The Wedding Night

Sherlock grabbed his jacket and they went upstairs. He hung it in the wardrobe and then got his pajamas. "I'll be back in a few," he said, even though there was no real reason to announce it.

John nodded. He took advantage of the empty room to change, carefully hanging his suit and getting into pajamas. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth before getting into bed, waiting for Sherlock.

Sherlock came back into the room, hanging up the trousers from his father's suit before moving over to the bed. He turned off the small lamp so it was dark. "Should I sleep on the floor?" he asked quietly.

"No," John replied just as quietly. Selfishly. He was glad it was dark, and Sherlock couldn't see his face.

Sherlock pulled back the blankets and climbed in. He wasn't quite sure what to say. He lay there in silence for a few moments. Then he reached over and held John's hand.

John tensed, his face flushing in the dark. He laced their fingers and held Sherlock's hand. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Being beside Sherlock helped his brain stay calm, avoiding the stressful thoughts of what would come later when they had to deal with the end of this lie. He fell asleep quickly. 

Sherlock listened to their breath in the dark. It was quiet and soothing. He closed his eyes and it wasn't long until he was asleep.

When John woke up it was still dark out, the sun only just barely starting to come up. He wondered what time they had gone to bed--it must have been early. On top of that, he hadn't dreamed again. He glanced over at Sherlock and wondered if it was really because of him. 

Sherlock shifted at John's movement. He was on his side, facing John, their hands no longer touching. He opened one eye. "Is it morning?" he asked.

"Barely," John said quietly. 

"I'm still tired," Sherlock mumbled. "I wish we could stay in this room forever." He opened his eyes and turned onto his back. "My mum keeps the house warm -- it's nicer to wake up like this than the coldness of the flat."

"We could heat the flat more," John offered. "Get some more sleep and we can worry about that after."

"Don't get up yet," Sherlock said. "Stay here with me, yeah?"

John nodded and lay back against the pillow.


	21. Back To London

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, the room was quite bright. "Wake up, husband," he said, pushing on John's arm.

John's eyes snapped open. "What's happening?" 

"We're married," Sherlock said. "And we're getting up now."

"Oh right, I remember."

"I hope so," Sherlock said, dragging himself from the bed. "I'm going to the toilet and then downstairs before I get dressed. I need tea and I want to see what Mum wants to do."

"Okay. Should I wait here?"

"No," Sherlock said. "Go use the other bathroom and fix your hair -- it's all wonky." He smiled cheekily and then left the room.

"Sex hair," he said without thinking as he got up to get himself together. 

Sherlock wasn't sure he'd heard right. When he came back, he said, "What's sex hair?"

"Hmm? Not, oh nothing, never mind."

"No, don't do that -- tell me," Sherlock said. "Do you just mean it's a mess from moving around and all or is it something else?"

"Yeah, all the moving around and fingers going through it and all that," John explained. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Don't treat me like a child, though. However, I am my mother's son so perhaps we don't want her thinking about us having sex first thing in the morning, all right?" He made a little smile and motioned for John to follow.

Violet, of course, was already awake. She poured them each a cup of tea and came to sit down with them. "What shall I make for breakfast?" she asked, looking over at John.

"Oh, you don't have to go through any trouble," he said. "Whatever is easiest."

"It'd be easiest if we took you out to breakfast," Sherlock said. "We could go to that little cafe."

"I don't want to complicate things," she said.

"Going out is the opposite of complicating things," Sherlock said. "Let us take you out. You don't mind, do you, John?"

John smiled. "Not at all. That's a perfect idea."

"Well, then, go get yourselves dressed and we'll do it," Violet said smiling. "Are you sure you have to leave today -- you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like."

"Thank you but no," Sherlock said, glancing at John. "We definitely need to go home today." They got up and headed upstairs.

"I'll need a quick shower," Sherlock said. "But perhaps we should pack up so we can leave shortly after we get back." He grabbed some clean clothes and went to the bathroom to shower. He gathered up his toiletries and brought them and his pajamas back to the room. He shoved them into his bag. "You know, I brought a book to read while we were here," he said. "And I didn't look at it once. I guess that means you're quite good company."

John chuckled. "I think I would have been offended if you tried to read. I'm your guest," he said.

"You are not," Sherlock said. "You're my husband, remember? You're family now. No more special treatment."

"I should have taken advantage of more while I had it," John teased. 

"Yes, well, the deed is done, so you're stuck with me now," Sherlock said, zipping up his bag. 

Until the money comes, John thought to himself. Then his stomach twisted with guilt. "I could have done worse," he said instead, smiling softly.

"You could have done much better as well," Sherlock said. "But you've made your choice." He looked over. "You ready?"

They carried their bags downstairs, dropping them near the door. Soon the three of them were heading out. Sherlock drove them a few streets over to a small cafe. "Looks posh," Sherlock said to John. "But don't worry -- you'll get your fill of grease."

John grinned. "I appreciate that."

Violet got a table and then John and Sherlock went up to order. Sherlock got his mum a full English with extra mushrooms and toast, knowing she would share. John ordered two breakfast sandwiches and a large coffee. He helped carry everything to the table. The food was delicious, he hummed happily as he ate.

Sherlock was relatively sure his mother was smiling too much during breakfast, but he didn't say anything. He ate a bit of eggs and mushrooms and two pieces of toast. They spoke about John's job and the possibility of Violet coming for a visit. When they headed home, Sherlock tried to keep it short and sweet so they could get straight onto the road.

Soon enough they were on their way home. "I wish you could drive," Sherlock told John. "We've been in this car five minutes and I'm already bored out of my mind. I might as well be sleeping."

"Sorry," John said. "I had that big coffee so I could stay up with you, though, so that's something."

"I'll be disappointed if you sleep, John," Sherlock said. "Think of something for us to talk about."

John did, talking about films he liked, interesting things he'd seen while traveling abroad, interesting people he'd met along the way. He asked Sherlock about cases and experiments, about his school and his childhood, and before they knew it they were driving into the city.

They dropped off the car and got a taxi home. As they let themselves in, Mrs Hudson came out her door and called, "Are you married?"

"Yes, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "We are."

She made a little squeal and gave each of them a hug. There was a brief chat and then Sherlock made a grumble so Mrs Hudson said, "I want to see pictures but I'll let you two lovebirds settle in."

John glanced at Sherlock. "Do you have pictures?" he asked when they got upstairs. 

"My mum took some," Sherlock said. "I'll get her to send them through to keep Mrs Hudson happy." He moved to the kitchen and made some tea, bringing two cups into the sitting room. "Let's unpack later," he said as he sat down in his chair.

"So . . . it's the start of our wedded bliss together," John said. "What do we do now?" 

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "We just live. And soon we'll have some money." He took a sip of tea. "Unless -- do you mean, are we going to sleep together?"

"No -- what?" John said quickly. Maybe too quickly. "I just meant -- I don't know. I don't know what I meant." But the truth was that he didn't want to say it out loud -- he was worrying about what would happen when they got the money. Would John have to leave? What about the divorce? Violet had been so happy . . . and now he was spiraling again. "Do you mind if I turn on the telly?"

"Whatever," Sherlock said. He looked over and said, "Don't start worrying, John. It's done now."

John nodded, but in reality he couldn't help it. He turned on the telly and flipped through the channels until he found an old film he used to like. He settled comfortably and tried to focus on the film and nothing else. Then something occurred to him. "Is that something you would want? Sleeping together?"

Sherlock looked over quickly and then lifted his mug to his mouth. He didn't take a sip, though. Instead he asked, "Do you mean sex?"

"Is that what you meant, when you asked before?" 

"I don't know, yes, I don't --" Sherlock rambled. "What did you mean?"

"I wanted to clarify if you meant literally sleeping in the same bed or if you were suggesting we have sex."

"I know what you were asking," Sherlock said. "I'm asking you what your answer is."

"Do we need to sleep in the same room?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted the answer to be. "I was just thinking . . . if Mrs Hudson were to see you were in the other room . . ."

"Does she come in unannounced?"

Suddenly Sherlock wished he'd never started this conversation. "No, I don't think," he said, getting up to put his mug in the sink. "I just meant we need to make sure, you know, to keep pretending." He picked up his bag. "I'm going to go unpack," he said and headed off to his room.

John watched him leave, sighing softly as he rubbed his temple. It was getting harder and harder to remember this was pretend. 

Sherlock threw his dirty clothes into a pile in the corner and dumped the rest of the bag out on his chair. He slumped down on the bed and then lay back, lifting his arm to cover his face. This seemed all very confusing, when just a few days ago it seemed very clear. He kind of wished that he was alone in the flat right now, that he'd never come up with this stupid idea.

John stood and went upstairs with his bag and started unpacking his own stuff. He looked at the suit for a moment before hanging it carefully in the closet. He hoped Sherlock wasn't upset.

Sherlock stayed in his room for a couple hours and then he realised he needed the toilet and another cup of tea. So he got up, taking his toiletries into the bathroom. When he emerged, he made a pot of tea and took his cup over to his desk to check his email.

John finished packing and came down, hesitating when he saw Sherlock. He hoped the awkwardness had passed. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Whatever you want is fine," Sherlock said. "You don't have to cook for me, you know?"

"I was just going to order something, I'm tired from the drive," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "If you get Chinese, I'll take some fried rice." He turned back to the laptop.

John stood there for a long moment. "Um, right." He turned and went back up to his room, placing the order for delivery and paying over the phone. 

Sherlock sent his mum an email after he'd sorted through his Inbox. There were a few possibilities for cases that he could look into. When John came back down, Sherlock looked up. "Sorry," he said. "I think I'm just tired from . . . it all. I don't mean to be disagreeable."

"No, you're not. It's fine," he said. He went down to get the food, bringing it to the kitchen. He didn't bother with a plate, choosing to eat out of his box. "It's on the table when you're ready for it," he told Sherlock.

Sherlock came over and sat down, picking at his rice. "You going back to work tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah, I have to," he said. "Did you have any cases waiting for you?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "Maybe something we can work on together, if you're interested." He took a bite of food.

"Yeah, definitely," he said. "That'll be interesting."

Sherlock looked over. Did John mean that or was he just saying it? "I'll let you know," he said. He ate a few more bites and then put the container into the fridge. "What are you going to do for the rest of the evening?" 

"I might go to bed early," he said. "Do you need anything?"

"No," he looked up. "I might have a glass of wine -- will that bother you . . . because of your sister?"

"What? No, we already went over that," John said, getting up to put his leftovers away.

"Just checking," Sherlock said. He opened a bottle and poured himself a glass. "Want one?"

John shook his head. "No thanks," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Good night, John." He watched John climb up the stairs. He took his glass over to the window, opening it slightly, before digging out a cigarette and lighting it. He blew the smoke out into the cold air. It all felt different now -- it had actually been fun being with John over the weekend, Sherlock had actually enjoyed it. And now things just felt different. He finished his wine and the cigarette and then went to bed.

John was up for a long time, looking over at the empty side of the bed. The weekend seemed like something out of someone else's life. Now they went back to flatmates. Simply living separate lives together. John kept forgetting how short the time they knew each other was. He fell asleep and was woken to quickly by a nightmare. Back to reality.


	22. Back To Reality

Sherlock was awake in bed when he heard John get up. He lay there for a while and then made his way out. "Sleep okay?" he asked as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"Um, kind of," he said, shrugging. "How about you?"

"It felt different, I guess," Sherlock admitted. "More space, though."

"I noticed that as well, the space, I mean."

"Right," Sherlock said. He moved over to his desk and opened his laptop.

"I'm leaving now, I'll see you later. Should I bring anything home?"

"Whatever you want," Sherlock said, staring at the screen. "If anything comes up case-wise, I'll text you, yeah? In case I've got to go out."

John nodded his agreement before leaving for work. 

Sherlock got up and put the kettle back on. He washed John's mug and his wine glass from last night, and then poured a new cup. When he got back to his desk, his mother had sent some photos. He clicked through them, smiling to himself. John looked really handsome -- in fact they looked quite good next to each other, even in the ones from Saturday when they were dressed alike. He was still smiling when he got up to get ready to go out.

The surgery was busy or maybe it seemed more so too John after being off for so long. There was a steady stream of patients, he ate lunch at his desk, and then he went right back to it until it was time to go. Despite being tired, he decided to walk home simply because he could. He picked up fresh ingredients to make dinner on the way.

Sherlock spent his afternoon interviewing possible clients. He took two cases because one he was pretty sure he'd already solved it before the woman had even stopped speaking. The second he took because he imagined that he and John could maybe work together -- John's medical and military experience could be useful. He'd just put the kettle on when John got in.

"Your day okay?" he asked with a smile. "Or should I say, welcome home, darling?"

John smiled at the greeting. "My day was fine. Anything interesting come your way?"

"Possibly," Sherlock said, handing him a mug of tea. He carried his own over to his chair. "I've got one that just needs a little research but another that might need some investigation -- think you might be interested one night later this week?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll be off the day after tomorrow."

"That's even better," Sherlock said. He gave John a smile before taking a long sip of tea. 

Not long later, John made some dinner and Sherlock ate a little. Then he spent some time researching, planning his activities for tomorrow. He was pretty confident he'd get the first case sorted, and then could concentrate on the second and working with John.

John logged on to the website and was pleased to see not only more comments but also requests for more. John told Sherlock about it, reading some out loud.

"That's brilliant, John," Sherlock said. "This could be a very productive partnership."

John laughed in agreement and posted an update that more cases were coming soon, again inviting readers to send through anything interesting.

They moved over to the sofa and watched telly for a bit. After a while, Sherlock got up. "I'm freezing," he said. "I think I'll take a bath and then go to bed and read for a while."

"How do we turn up the heat?" John asked.

"Do you mind?" Sherlock asked. "Maybe I could set up to come on earlier in the morning? I really liked waking up warm." His face went a bit weird since the sentence was awkwardly worded.

"I'll sort it," John said.

"See you in the morning," Sherlock said. "If I'm not up before you go, come get me, yeah?"

Once Sherlock got into bed, he kind of fancied a final cup of tea, but he was quite comfortable so he read for a while until he woke up with the book on his chest. He set it aside, turned off the light and went back to sleep.

John had another hard night, more nightmares and restless sleep. When John woke and stared at the ceiling, he debated how Sherlock would react if John asked for more of his magic. 

The next morning Sherlock was up before John. He'd been going to bed earlier anyway, but today he was eager to get started on his work, so he showered, had a cup of tea and was getting his coat on when John came down.

"You don't look good today," he told him.

"Thanks," John said sarcastically, moving passed Sherlock to get some tea and make breakfast.

"I'm off," Sherlock said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Should I try to come home when you come home?"

"You don't have to. Do what you need to," John told him. 

Sherlock stopped as he was opening the door. He thought for a second and then called, "I'll text you if I'm going to be late." Then he headed out.

John ate a quick breakfast on his own before leaving for work himself. He walked again, glad to see the lobby was getting full. He jumped right in and jet himself get lost in his work. 

Sherlock lost himself in his research -- he really did love it. He stopped in at four different places, finding more each place. When he'd finally finished, he got out his phone and saw that it was almost five.

_I'm going home now. SH_

He wasn't sure if John cared or not, but some reason he wanted him to know.

John had worked through lunch, not wanting to lose the focus he had captured when he walked in. By the time he was finished for the day he was starving. He took a few extra minutes at his desk to finish his paperwork, eating the leftovers he'd brought for lunch. When he saw Sherlock's text he felt a pang of . . . something. It must have been a good case if he was out all day.

_I'll be there soon. JW_

Sherlock felt glad. He didn't care to think about why -- he wanted to see John and that was all he needed to know at the moment.

_I had my lunch really late and won't be having dinner. Want anything? JW_

_No, thank you. SH_

Sherlock's taxi was just pulling up to the flat as he hit Send. He let himself in, made a cup of tea and got to work on his notes.

John walked home from the office. When he walked in and hung his coat, he went to the kitchen and started the kettle again. "Busy day?"

"Very much so," Sherlock said. "It was excellent." He kept typing and then stopped. "How was your day?"

"Busy. It was fine," he said.

Sherlock got up and moved into the kitchen to top up his tea. "That's all, fine?" he asked. "Nothing interesting?"

John shrugged. "No one comes to the office for interesting things."

Sherlock glanced over. "Are you still willing to help me on a case?" he asked casually, not wanting to put any pressure on him.

"Yes, I said I would already. But I assume what you worked on today is finished?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "But that was the boring one."

"I see," John said as he finished making his tea.

Sherlock filled his mug as well. He moved into the sitting room. "I could still tell you about it . . . if you're interested," he said.

"I've already said a hundred times I am," he said, trying to sound casual. 

"Are you angry with me?" Sherlock asked. "I feel like I've done something wrong but I don't know what."

"No Sherlock, I'm not angry. I just slept badly and had a long day and you've really asked me the same thing a lot of times," he explained. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked over and then looked down at his mug. "You should've said . . . I could've helped," he said quietly.

John rubbed the back of his neck, having at his tea. "I didn't think . . . I mean, I did for a second but I thought we were going back to normal," he shrugged.

"But normal is friends, I thought," Sherlock said. "Regardless of whether or not I'm your husband, I thought I was your friend and friends are supposed to help, right?"

"Yeah but I don't know. I didn't think that meant sleeping, you know, together."

"Well . . ." Sherlock said. This was all confusing again. "Well, we've already slept together and you weren't sleeping anyway so I could've just sat with you. I don't know, John, but --" Sherlock thought for a moment. "But I could've helped."

John looked up from his tea, meeting Sherlock's gaze. "Okay. Maybe we can try tonight and see if you've still got it?" He tried to smile and lighten the mood.

"If you need me," Sherlock said and tried to smile back. It was quiet for a few minutes as they finished their tea. Then Sherlock stood up. "Come on then, go get your laptop and let me explain today and then I can update you on tomorrow."

John grabbed his laptop from the chair and brought it to the sofa so that Sherlock could sit beside him and look as well.

Sherlock poured them each another cup of tea and brought a pack of biscuits in. He began talking about the first case -- explaining in great detail about the client and how Sherlock had basically solved the case without any evidence. Then he explained in greater detail each of his stops today -- what he was looking for and what he found. Then he explained in the greatest of details how it all fit together. He watched John's fingers typing as well as his face as he listened, trying to judge whether John was really that interested and also (though he probably wouldn't admit this) whether John was impressed.

John typed as quickly as he could, sometimes having Sherlock repeat a few things. "It's amazing," John murmured.

"It's not," Sherlock said even though he was a bit too pleased with the comment.

"It really is, Sherlock," he said as he typed, getting closer to the end now.

"Well . . . thanks," Sherlock said. He stood up and stretched for a minute. "Need a top up or a glass of wine or anything?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen with their empty mugs.

"No, I'm okay," John said, going through to edit the post.

Sherlock decided against the wine for now and turned the kettle back on. He went to the toilet while he waited and then returned with a fresh cup. "So," he said. "Are you ready to hear about tomorrow? Don't take notes yet, okay? I just want it to be brewing in your head overnight."

John put his computer and notebook down. "Right, okay," he said, facing Sherlock properly. 

Sherlock began telling everything Lestrade had told him about the case -- the details of the murder, the background of the suspect, and what they thought was his motivation. "But they're wrong," Sherlock said. "Or rather they're right about the motive, wrong about the suspect."

"But you know, right? Or you're close already?" John asked. 

"I know," Sherlock said. "Well, I think I know. I mean, we'll find out tomorrow." He shifted a little on the sofa. "But only if you get a good night's sleep tonight so maybe we should go to bed."

John nodded. "Okay. I could use it," he admitted. 

"I'll have an early night as well then," Sherlock said standing up. He turned to move towards his room. "If you have trouble -- well, you know where I am," he said.

"I thought . . ." John hesitated. "I thought I'd just come with you. If I have a nightmare it'll be too late."

"Oh, uh, yeah, all right," Sherlock said. "Yes, that'd be easier." He turned and moved into his bedroom. He grabbed his pajamas and went into the bathroom.

John nodded. He went upstairs and got ready for bed, coming down in his pants and undershirt. He looked around the room before climbing into the bed carefully. 

Sherlock changed into his pajamas and then cleaned his teeth and washed his face. He felt a little nervous, which was stupid as they weren't doing anything different than they'd done two nights ago. His bed was even bigger than his one at his parents' so it would all be fine. He came into the bedroom and saw John.

"That's where I sleep," he said stupidly, standing at the foot of the bed.

John blinked and sat up. "Oh." He scooted carefully to the other side. "Okay."

Sherlock climbed in and reached over to turn off the lamp. He lay flat on his back with his hands on his chest. "Hey John," he said.

"Yeah?" John asked into the dark.

"Remember how we're married?"

John huffed a small breath if surprise at the words. "I remember."

"Well, don't forget," Sherlock said. "I mean, you're my husband so . . . stop acting like you're not."

John felt slightly ashamed but he didn't know why. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean, after all that happened over the weekend, after everything. . . of course I will help you however you need me to. Don't not ask me. All right?" 

John reached out in the dark and touched Sherlock's hand before holding it properly. 

Sherlock squeezed John's hand. "Fine," he said. "Now stop making such a fuss about everything and go to sleep, okay?" he said.

John smiled and turned on his side, facing Sherlock and holding his hand in the dark. Sherlock stayed on his back but closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, though he was listening to John's as well. John fell asleep after a long while. Sherlock listened to John's breathing change and then slow as he went to sleep. He wondered if his presence had helped or if it was a coincidence and John would wake up with a nightmare. He tried to imagine what dreams haunted John, but then decided not to. Eventually he too fell asleep.


	23. The Case

John woke up in the morning and realised there'd been no nightmare. Then he noticed Sherlock and smiled softly. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" Sherlock mumbled, rolling over and stuffing his face into the pillow.

John flushed and just yawned loudly. "Hmm?" he asked as if he hadn't said anything. "I need the loo." He got up and padded out to the bathroom.

Sherlock rubbed his face and then closed his eyes. He could feel himself start to drift off again, so he pushed himself up but didn't get out of bed yet. He glanced at the clock and realised it was early enough that they didn't have to rush. John wandered back into Sherlock's room, nervous about climbing back in now that he'd been up.

"We should get going," Sherlock said, but he didn't get up yet. "Sleep okay then?"

John nodded. "No nightmares," he confirmed. 

"Good," Sherlock said, pulling back the covers and getting up. "If I helped, I'm glad." He grabbed some clothes and headed off to the bathroom. "Make the tea!" he called as he shut the door.

"No!" John said, even as he got up and headed for the kitchen.

Sherlock showered and emerged a bit later, fully dressed. "Tea?" he asked.

John nodded, passing Sherlock his mug. 

"Thanks," Sherlock said. "I don't know how long we'll be out, if you need to eat or something." He took a sip. "If you get . . . tired or anything, just let me know, all right?"

John nodded. "I should be okay. I'm a soldier after all," he smiled. 

"Of course, I'm just saying, if . . ." Sherlock took another drink. "So are you going to get ready or are you just going to stand around?" he asked with a smile.

"I'm going to enjoy my tea first unless we're in a rush," he said.

"That's fine," Sherlock said. "As long as we leave within the hour, yeah?" He got up and moved to his laptop, looking for any updates from Lestrade -- one had arrived but it didn't include anything he hadn't already deduced.

John finished his tea and had a couple biscuits before going to change. "I'm ready," he said.

Sherlock looked over. "Look, before we go, I need to ask you something," he said. "Did you tell people at the surgery we got married?"

John nodded. "I told my boss that's why I needed the time off," he said. "There's only a few of us so they know."

"Would you mind if it were to come up today -- if we meet with Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"You mean if we told him?" John asked. "I don't mind. I think it's best that we tell anyone we normally would in case your brother is prying."

"Good," Sherlock said. In truth, he hadn't really thought of his brother, but John was right. "All right, then let's go." He stood up and moved to get his coat.

John got his coat and followed Sherlock out of the flat. "The police know that I'm coming as well?"

"We're not seeing the police necessarily," Sherlock said. "We've got some investigating first but we might end up there. Which I realise doesn't answer your question. No, they don't know. But that doesn't matter."

John nodded. "Okay. Well, I'll just stick with you," he said as he climbed into the taxi. 

They went all over the city -- John was grateful he no longer needed his cane because it would have been impossible to keep up. Well, not impossible, he had a feeling Sherlock would have waited for him, but he would have been very slowed down and John wouldn't have wanted to annoy him. This worked better. Sherlock interviewed a couple people, harassed another, broke into a flat and then ran across to another part of town to corner the man who lived in the flat. By lunch time, John was trying to organise his notes, and he was trying to do it around a plate of fish and chips. "This is amazing Sherlock. Seriously. You're like . . . it's amazing," he sighed. 

"Stop saying amazing, John," Sherlock said. "Unless you really mean it," he added quietly. He ate a chip and took a sip of his tea. "Besides you're the one who made the link that helped us find that man. That was amazing and then your notes and all. So just . . . shut up about it." He smiled over as he ate another chip.

"I do mean it," he said. "But I know it's a lot. Sorry. I'll stop."

"Well, you don't have to stop," Sherlock said. "But only when you mean it." He finished off his tea. "Hurry up, then. We've got at least one more stop and if all goes to plan, we can swing by the Yard to tell them the good news."

Sherlock got up and they headed out. He and John headed to the hospital to look at the body. Sherlock was hoping John's eyes and background would be useful.

Molly greeted them. "Hello Sherlock," she said cheerfully. "It's been too long." She glanced over at John, but didn't ask.

"Molly," Sherlock said, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "This is Doctor John Watson. He and I'd like to look at the corpse that came in yesterday. Also, we got married. John and I, I mean, not the corpse."

Molly was shocked but tried not to let her face reveal it, until she remembered whom she was talking to. "I'm -- I'm surprised," she said.

"Yes, well, it is surprising, I suppose," Sherlock said. He glanced at John and then looked back at Molly. "The body?"

"Yes, right," she said. "It's nice to meet you," she said to John and then led them over to the dead man.

John shook Molly's hand as Sherlock hovered over the body. "Nice to meet you," he said before moving to look at the body as well. 

"Petechiae," Sherlock mumbled as he inspected the man's eyes and face. He double checked his wrists and found no marks there. He stepped away. "Can you confirm, Dr Watson?" he asked.

John looked closer. "Yes, you're right," he smiled.

"Strangulation!" Sherlock said, excitedly. "I knew it!" He clenched his fist and shook it. "Excellent." He settled down and glanced at Molly. "Thank you, Molly," he said. He looked at John. "We need to go see Lestrade."

John said goodbye to Molly and they headed out. "So this proves what?"

"The man we met earlier was the dead man's brother who was trying to rush insurance payments," Sherlock said, raising his hand for a taxi. "As in rushing them by murdering his brother."

"They didn't suspect the brother first?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "Perfect alibi -- except there is no perfect alibi when you're guilty."

They arrived at Lestrade's office, with Sherlock still a little too giddy about murder. He entered and before he could even speak, Lestrade said, "So you were right."

"Obviously," Sherlock said.

Lestrade sighed. "I will never ceased to be amazed at how much you love murder," he said.

"Not murder," Sherlock said. "My being right."

"That too," Lestrade said. He glanced at John. "Who's this then?"

Sherlock said, "My husband." He turned as if to leave. "We'll get the notes to you this evening."

"Whoa, Sherlock," Lestrade said, standing up. "Hold on. What did you say?"

"We'll get the notes to you this evening," Sherlock said.

Lestrade stared back at him.

"Fine," Sherlock said, nudging John forward. "This is my husband, Doctor John Watson."

Lestrade looked between the two men and then leaned forward, extending his hand. "Greg Lestrade," he said. 

John shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said. 

"And he said . . . you two are . . . married, somehow?" Greg asked.

"Not married 'somehow' -- married legally, in the conventional sense, at a church even," Sherlock clarified.

"Right," Greg said, a little flustered. "It's just . . . I didn't know anything about this."

"Why would you?" Sherlock asked. "I didn't know when you got married."

"I'm not married."

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "You've made my point."

Greg rolled his eyes. "I just mean, I wasn't aware you were . . . you know . . ."

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Human," Greg said.

"Hilarious," Sherlock said. "More importantly, though, you do need to be aware that John will be working with me on some cases so you should expect to see him around."

"Sherlock --"

"He's a medical doctor, a professional -- I need his expertise," Sherlock explained. He glanced at John.

"Right, well, just -- don't make a song and dance over him getting into crime scenes, I have enough problems with you," Lestrade said. "And you . . . live together?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "So you'll see him at Baker Street as well. Are we done here?"

Lestrade nodded and looked over at John. "Well, it was nice to meet you -- good luck with him."

"I don't need luck," he smiled. "I wasn't a hostage at the wedding. See you," he told Greg.

Sherlock smiled to himself, hearing John's remark as he turned to leave. Once they were out of the building, he reached out and held John's hand as they walked a bit down the street. He said, "Let's go home -- we need a rest but I would like to get the notes done tonight, if possible. Not a blog yet until the arrest's been made but they'll need to see what we've found."

John glanced down at their hands. "I won't post it until you tell me, but I would like to start working on it."

"All right," Sherlock said. He hailed them a cab and got in. "Did you have fun?" he asked John once they were on their way back to the flat.

John smiled wide. "Yes. This was really great, Sherlock. Thanks."

"There's no reason to thank me," Sherlock said. "I should be thanking you since you helped."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to take me along. It was fun, I appreciate it."

"It was fun," Sherlock confirmed with a smile.

When they got back to the flat, Sherlock immediately made a pot of tea and brought it with some biscuits into the living room. "How do you want to do this?" he asked. "Since you're typing, you can be in charge."

"Well, I'm just going to start at the beginning and type it all out. It's nothing crazy."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll just sit here and watch you." He poured two cups of tea and then sat back in his chair with his.

John smiled and started typing, referring to his notes as he worked quietly. 

Sherlock watched John for a while. It was quite nice being here, spending the whole day with John, doing the thing Sherlock loved best. He could get used to it really. Once he'd finished two cups of tea, John let him read over his notes. Sherlock suggested a few changes and then John forwarded the document to Sherlock's email. He read it one more time and then sent it on to Lestrade.

"So what now? Do you need to eat or something? You haven't for a while," Sherlock said.

"Eating would be great," John said. "Let me know when I can post the case on the blog, okay?" He stood and went to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Sherlock followed him in and sat down at the table. "I enjoyed watching you write so much, I think I'll watch you cook now," he said with a smile.

John laughed softly as he started boiling water for simple spaghetti. 

As John cooked, Sherlock got up and opened a bottle of wine. He got out two glasses but only poured one for himself before sitting down again. "Do you think you'll be cooking dinner every single night for the rest of our lives?" he asked.

"No," John laughed. "Once in a while. Don't I get wine?"

"I wasn't sure," Sherlock said, leaning over to pour a glass. 

"I don't want you to treat me any different because of what you know about my sister," John said. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He sat back in his chair and watched John take a drink. When he turned around to face the oven again, Sherlock said, "You know what's strange?"

"No, what?"

"That we haven't kissed for three whole days," Sherlock said.

John stared at the boiling water as the pasta swirled around the bubbles. "I suppose that it strange," he agreed.

"It is," Sherlock said. "I mean because we did it so much over the weekend. No one's clinking glasses, though, so I suppose there's not point."

John stirred the pasta. "Do you want to? Kiss, I mean."

"No, I don't know, I mean, I suppose I got used to it," Sherlock said. He took a sip of wine. "I was just pointing out that it was strange."

John glanced over at him. He tapped his nails on the glass, making a soft clinking sound. It was quiet enough that they could ignore it. 

Sherlock shifted awkwardly. "Did you do that on purpose?" he asked, his voice quieter than he'd intended.

John kept tapping the glass, shrugging lightly. "Yeah," he admitted just as softly as Sherlock. 

"Well, we'll see," Sherlock said, shifting again. "I suppose it is our third anniversary after all." He smiled stupidly to break the tension.

John stopped tapping the glass. "Right," he said, clearing his throat and going back to cooking. His stomach was a knot of disappointment. 

"So," Sherlock said, trying to break whatever was causing the tension. "You're back to work tomorrow?"

"Yes," John said, starting to heat up the meat and the sauce. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. He took a sip of wine. "That smells nice actually. Will there be enough for me to have some?"

John looked over his shoulder to see if Sherlock was joking. He couldn't tell. "Of course there is," he said.

"I just don't want you to think I'm taking advantage," Sherlock said.

"Of what?" John asked. "I'm your husband."

Sherlock opened his mouth but wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say. So he just said, "So you are," and took another drink of wine.

John drained the pasta and finished the sauce. He served up two plates and joined Sherlock at the table. 

Sherlock smiled. "Thanks," he said. He stuck his fork in and took a bite. "Very good," he said. "I don't know how I'll adjust to homecooked food every night."

"It won't be every night so don't worry," John said, sipping his wine.

The conversation returned to normal as they ate, chatting about the day and the case. Once they'd finished, Sherlock told John to leave the dishes, offering to do the washing up . . . tomorrow. He put the kettle on for a cup of tea, but also topped up his wine glass.

John got up and started putting the leftovers away, while Sherlock made tea. "None for me," he said, sipping his wine.

Sherlock took a sip of wine. "What about bed?" Sherlock asked.

"What about it?" John asked.

"Are you going to sleep with me?"

"Oh. Yes, if that's okay. I thought that's what we had decided already."

"I just . . . wanted to check if you'd changed your mind," Sherlock said. "Look, let's just assume when you make dinner I can eat some and when we got to bed you can sleep with me. That way we're both clear all the time, though obviously we can change our minds on either account whenever we want. Fine?"

John nodded. "That's fine," he said. He reached for his wine and missed slightly, his ring clinking off the side. He flushed and grabbed it quickly, standing to add more to it so he could turn away from Sherlock.

Sherlock looked over. What was John doing? Did he want them to kiss again? Sherlock thought about it -- to be honest, he wouldn't mind, but it was confusing. Maybe it was just a joke. Sherlock finished off the rest of his wine and put the glass in the sink. "Are we going to bed now then?" he asked.

"I'm going to stay up a bit longer. I'm really full from dinner and I don't want to lie down just yet." John sipped his wine. "Is that okay?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "I think I'll take a bath actually -- to be fair, I'm not ready to sleep at all." He went in and turned on the bath and then grabbed his pajamas and a book. "Back later," he called before going into the bathroom.

John went to his chair and sank into it. It was time to admit that something was going on here -- more than a job. More than friendship. He sighed heavily. This could only end badly. How long could he convince Sherlock to keep him around, after the inevitable divorce? What would be the point if it just meant pining after him for the rest of their lives? Unless he could convince Sherlock to feel the same. Maybe if he flirted with him a little. Would he come around?

After his bath, Sherlock went straight into his bedroom. He lay down on the bed and continued to read until the relaxation of the bath and the quiet of the room did start to make him sleepy. He didn't want to go to sleep, though, until John came in -- he wasn't sure why but he felt like he should stay awake.

John heard Sherlock moving through the flat. He gave Sherlock a few minutes and then stood, turning everything off and heading quietly to bed. He undressed and climbed in slowly.

"Okay if I turn out the lamp? I'm done reading," Sherlock said.

"Yeah," John nodded, shifting to get comfortable.

Sherlock reached over and turned off the lamp. Then he leaned over and kissed John. "Good night," he said and lay down, turning away from him.

John blinked into the dark, his lips tingling and his body warm. "Good night," he mumbled. So maybe it wouldn't be completely impossible to turn Sherlock around. It took him a long time to sleep after that, his imagination going wild. When he slept, he dreamt of them together.


	24. Complications

When John's alarm woke him in the morning, Sherlock's calm shattered and he sat up sharply. "That's annoying -- turn it off," he said testily before dropping against the pillow.

John threw him a dirty look and shut off the alarm, climbing out of bed to go get ready for work.

Sherlock closed his eyes again. He wished John didn't have to go to work. He wished he would stay home here with Sherlock, and they could find another case to work on. Which was what Sherlock would do later on his own, but for now at least he stayed in bed.

John showered and dressed, making breakfast and tea. Sherlock still wasn't up so he sat and ate alone. 

Sherlock dozed a few minutes and then opened his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time had passed so he got out of bed and went into the kitchen for tea. "You're still here?" he asked John.

"I have a few minutes," John said.

Sherlock took his tea to his desk and opened his laptop, skimming his email and the daily news as he drank.

When John finished eating he washed his plate and grabbed his coat. "I'm leaving," he told Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked up. "All right then -- have a good day," he said, giving John a smile. He stood up, watching John out the window until he could see him no longer. He decided to smoke a cigarette and then got to work, drumming up a case.

John walked to work again, thinking about the night before. He shook his head to forget the thought. It didn't matter. He had to stop obsessing over it and just think about the money. He went into work and started taking patients right away, glad for the mind numbing distractions they offered. 

Sherlock went first to the Yard to see if Lestrade had anything for him. 

"Where's your so-called husband?" Donovan asked as he passed her. He ignored her and went into Lestrade's office.

"What? God, Sherlock, yes, come right in," Lestrade said testily. "You know in this country, we have a little quirk called 'knocking at the door'. You really ought to try it."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Have you got anything for me?"

Lestrade sat back. "Trouble in paradise already?"

Sherlock wasn't sure what he meant so he just stared at him.

"I mean, you just got married, right? Why are you in such a rush to get back to work -- no honeymoon period?"

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock said. He started to leave and then said, "Do you mean that I should be at home with my husband instead of working?"

"Yes, Sherlock, that's what I was referring to," Lestrade said.

"Well, John's at work so there's little reason for me to be at the flat," Sherlock said. "Unless you've got nothing for me. . ."

Lestrade shuffled some papers. "I do actually," he said. "I was going to tell you yesterday but I could see you were in smug-mode so I didn't bother." He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. "Find me some more information on that."

Sherlock scanned the paper and then picked it up, folding it into his pocket. "I will," he said. He turned and left for real this time.

John took a break for lunch, walking across to the food cart and grabbing a quick meal before going back again. The lobby wasn't as full so John worked on charts between patients so he could go home on time. As he walked home he took out his phone and texted to let Sherlock know he was on his way home like he had the day before. 

Sherlock was in the library when his phone lit up.

_I'm not at the flat. SH_

John stopped walking, looking at the text. Someone bumped into him and cursed, throwing him a dirty look. John startled and started walking again. 

_Okay. -JW_

Sherlock continued working but after a few hours, he realised there were a few tests he'd need to do. He called Molly to see if he could get use of the lab and she agreed so he headed straight over.

John ate dinner on the sofa while watching crap telly, glancing at the door and his phone every once in a while. Eventually he started nodding off on the sofa. He went up to his own room to get ready for bed, climbing in and staring at the ceiling. The doziness from the sofa left him, replaced by worry for Sherlock and nerves about an impending nightmare. He tossed and turned for a long time before falling into a fitful sleep.

Sherlock stayed quite late, having to sneak out since the place had been locked up. He was relatively pleased with the information he'd found and was looking forward to writing it up. He came home to find the flat dark and quiet -- John must have gone to bed, which made sense since it was past midnight. He dumped his things on his desk and then turned the kettle on. He opened his bedroom door quietly to check on John, but he wasn't there. Then he heard a noise from the upstairs bedroom. He rushed up and opened the door. "John," he said loudly.

John gasped and bolted up, rubbing his face and looking around. His eyes focused on Sherlock and he remembered what was happening. "Oh. I'm fine," he said, laying back down and rubbing his face again. 

"You're not fine -- you were having a nightmare," Sherlock said, stepping into the room. "Why aren't you in my bed?"

"You weren't home," John said, shifting to get comfortable.

"So?" Sherlock said. "You're not always here . . . I don't under--" he stopped for a moment. "I've got more work to do. Just come downstairs to bed."

"I'm fine right here," John said, pulling the covers up.

Sherlock looked over at him. Why was he behaving like this? "Do you want me to sit here with you or something?" he asked.

"I've already had the nightmare now." As soon as John said it his stomach twisted with guilt. It wasn't Sherlock's fault and he wasn't in charge of making John sleep better. He was his own person with his own things to do. But John was upset about being left alone, about Sherlock not even texting to let him know he'd be late. He stayed under the covers, trying not to squirm.

Sherlock looked at the door and then back at the bed. "I don't know what to do, John," he said quietly. 

"You said you had work to finish," he said. "Go do it. I'm fine."

"Fine," Sherlock said. He left the room but did not shut the door. He went down and poured his tea, taking it to his desk. At first he had trouble focusing, but eventually he got back on task and worked for a few hours. When he was done, he stood up and looked toward John's room before going into his own bed.

John tried and failed to fall asleep. He tossed and turned to get comfortable, but his racing mind wouldn't let him find peace. He gave up and took out his computer, browsing the blog for a while. Eventually he dozed off and fell asleep with the computer on his lap. 

Sherlock couldn't sleep. It seemed odd without John beside, especially since it seemed like they might be fighting even though Sherlock wasn't sure why. He tried to concentrate on his breathing and feeling good about the work he'd done. It took him a long time to drift off.

John woke up late, glad he didn't have work today. He doubted he would have heard the alarm with everything that happened the night before. He got up and used the bathroom before going down to make tea.

Sherlock heard John in the kitchen. He wasn't sure whether or not to get up and go talk to him. Eventually he needed the toilet so he got up, went to the bathroom and then came into the kitchen. "Good morning,' he said quietly as he poured his tea.

"Morning," John said as he ate his toast.

Sherlock moved over to his desk, but didn't open his laptop. Instead he pulled out a drawer and grabbed a packet of cigarettes. He walk to the window, opened it and lit one. "So . . . are we supposed to talk or what?" he asked, staring through the glass.

"About what?" John asked. He took a sip of tea. "How was your case?"

"Fine," Sherlock said curtly. He looked over. "I meant about why you refused to sleep with me last night. Are we going to talk about that?"

John put his mug down. "How would you feel if I left for work in the morning and just didn't come home? No communication, nothing. Just disappeared until I felt like showing up again?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said honestly. "I mean, I don't know for sure when you're going to come home, do I?" He took a long drag on his cigarette. "I don't know, John," he repeated.

"How would you have felt if I left without waking you the morning when you asked me to?"

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said sharply. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be . . . I thought things were good. I enjoyed us working together. But yesterday you worked and I worked and I didn't know that I had to tell you."

"So that's how it'll be now? We just do our own thing and cross paths whenever?" John asked, getting fired up as well.

"No, I don't want that at all --" Sherlock said, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I just -- I'm sorry I got it wrong."

John took a deep breath. "I just would have liked to know you were going to be late. Or I could have met you after work and helped . . . I don't know," he sighed. "I thought we'd be more like friends."

Sherlock turned his head sharply. "I thought we were friends," he said. "You're my friend -- my only friend. I want to be that to you . . . I guess I thought I was, but perhaps I don't know how." He finished his cigarette. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said.

"Well, that's too bad because we'll be fighting again if we don't. If you're going to be late just . . . just let me know so I don't worry or wonder," John said. "Just like you'd want me to do, I assume."

"I don't want us to fight, John," Sherlock said. He knew it sounded stupid, like a child, but everything was different now and suddenly it was incredibly important than John still liked him. "I will . . . let you know, I mean," he added.

John pushed away his half eaten toast. "I'm sorry about what I said last night. It's not your fault, I was wrong to say it like that."

"I--" Sherlock started. "I still want to go to my room. Is that okay?" he asked.

John nodded. "Of course," he said. 

Sherlock tried to make a normal face and went back into his room. He sat down on his bed and thought about what had just happened. It felt like a mistake. He'd made a big mistake with John, and he worried that he'd keep making them and wouldn't even know he'd made the mistake until it was too late. He took a few deep breaths. Maybe coming in here was also a mistake? It was like all of a sudden he had no idea how to act.

John went to the sofa and opened his computer, going back on the blog to answer replies. Why was this so difficult? They just had to live together. It should be simple. But John knew, deep down, he was making it difficult. His growing feelings were making it more difficult.

Sherlock stood up and went out to the sitting room. "What are you working on?" he asked, working hard to keep his voice sounding normal.

"I'm just answering replies," he said. "On the blog. A couple have sent in cases but it's just minor stuff. Lost pets, suspected cheating girlfriend . . . things like that."

"It was a good idea, that blog," Sherlock said. "Thanks for that." He sat down and then stood up again when his phone vibrated. He looked at it. "My brother's on his way over," he said. That was the last thing he needed right now.

"Oh," he said. "Should we do anything?"

"Like what?" Sherlock said tersely and then added, "Sorry, no, just be normal, I mean, however married people act normally."

John nodded. He closed the laptop and went to the kitchen to start the kettle. 

Sherlock sat down and then stood up again. He moved over to his desk and opened his laptop to skim the newspaper, thanking John when he brought over a mug of. It was ridiculous to get wound up about his brother, though Sherlock did wonder if he would clink his glass and make them kiss.

"I was thinking," he said. "Maybe we don't need to tell him that we had an argument, all right?"

"I wasn't going to mention that to anyone. That's our business."

"Right," Sherlock said. "Just between husbands." He leaned over and looked out the window.


	25. The Money

"He's here," Sherlock said and stood up to move to the door. He opened it to Mycroft.

"How are the two lovebirds?" Mycroft asked, coming in before he was asked.

"All's fine here," Sherlock said. "I appreciate your checking in on us, but there's no need for you to stay."

"There is," Mycroft said. "I've got something for you . . . and your husband." He looked over toward the kitchen. "John," he said. "I see you're still here."

"Well, I like living with my husband so yes, I'm still here."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. He sat down in Sherlock's chair and pulled an envelope out of his pocket, setting it on the table. "Could I ask you two to join me over here, please?" he asked.

Sherlock glanced at John and then sat down on the sofa. When John sat down next to him, Sherlock held his hand.

"As the reasonable one in the family, I was under the impression that your inheritance would be withheld until we are sure this marriage is . . . solid," Mycroft said awkwardly. "However, Mother was rather charmed by your performance at the weekend." He paused. "Apparently, to her, it's obvious that you were meant to be together. And thus . . . she sees no reason not to allow you your money."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand.

Mycroft opened the envelope and slid the paper toward the sofa. "I'll need your signature," he said to his brother. "And yours," he added, looking at John.

Sherlock picked up the paper and skimmed it -- beneath the legal language, he could see that it detailed the release of the inheritance. It also included the line "We have entered into this marriage in good faith and have all intentions to make it last our lifetimes." There were lines for each of them to sign. He passed the paper to John.

"Intentions are one thing," Sherlock said. "Of course, many marriages end regardless of intentions . . . are there any guidelines if things were to, say, go pear-shaped?"

"Fighting already?" Mycroft asked and raised his eyebrow. "I know what you are asking, Sherlock. This is Mother's doing -- it's out of my hands now. I don't suggest you get divorced before this paper is filed, but I have to confess that otherwise I really couldn't care less what you do."

Sherlock looked over at John. "Shall we sign then?" he asked.

John looked over the paper, reading it as quickly add he could. Mycroft didn't care what they did after, but what about Sherlock's mum? And now, holding this paper and realising how close they were to the money, he was starting to panic. He didn't want this, not any more. He'd fallen for Sherlock, for real, and once this money came in, it could be over any day. The deal would be done, the favour completed. He looked at Sherlock, remembering what he signed up for and what he promised.

"Yes, we should," he smiled and took the pen, signing first before passing it to Sherlock who signed his name. Mycroft folded the paper, slid it back into the envelope and stood up.

"You two are absolute idiots," he said, moving to the door. "But you got what you wanted so I suppose that's all that matters."

"It's what Father wanted," Sherlock said, standing as well. "That's what matters."

Mycroft looked at them both again and then left.

"We did it," Sherlock said to John. He was expecting to feel good, but he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling.

John nodded, smiling over at Sherlock. "Yes. Job well done," he said.

"Right," Sherlock said. He sat down. "Right," he repeated. After a few moments, he asked, "So what's next?"

John shrugged. "We just carry on, I suppose. Carry on until we decide to . . . you know, divorce."

Sherlock looked down. "Is that what you -- I mean, we . . . I meant today," he said. "What's next today?"

"Oh. Do you want to get dinner? To celebrate?"

"Yeah, all right then," Sherlock said. "You can pay -- I hear you'll be coming into some money soon," he added with a wink as he got up and took his mug into the kitchen.

John smiled a bit awkwardly. "Yes," he said. "It will be my treat for my husband."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I am going to pick the most expensive place I know." He headed to his room. "I'm going to get ready," he said. "Go make yourself pretty."

A few minutes later, they were at the door. "Where are we going?" John asked. 

"You'll see," Sherlock said. He grabbed his coat and keys and opened the door.

John nodded his agreement and grabbed his coat before following Sherlock out. 

Sherlock caught them a taxi and they made their way over to the hospital. They got out near a restaurant near by, puling the door open for John.

John looked around and spotted the restaurant, then the hospital. He looked at Sherlock and smiled.

"Do you remember that day?" Sherlock asked as they sat down.

"In the lift?" John smiled, nodding. "Of course I do."

"I do as well," Sherlock said. He got them a bottle of wine. "It was two months ago today."

"Today," John said, a bit surprised. "Wow. It hasn't felt like two months."

"What do you mean?"

"It's flown by, you know?" he smiled. 

"In some ways," Sherlock mused. "In some ways, I feel like I've known you my entire life." The server came with the wine and poured each of them a glass. Sherlock took a small sip of his.

John smiled and sipped his wine. "I know what you mean," he said.

"Do you?" Sherlock said. He was pretty sure John didn't exactly understand what this friendship meant to him. He looked over his menu. "I suppose I should get the largest, most expensive option since you're paying," he said, trying to change the subject.

John smiled. "Well make sure I like it because I'm sure I'll be having it for lunch tomorrow."

Sherlock chose something and got John's approval. The server came to take their orders. When he left, Sherlock said, "Do you think you'll want to stay at the flat then for a while, I mean, until something better comes along?"

John's brows furrowed. "What? I haven't been looking for a place or anything. Do you want me to go?" The words came out fast and almost guilty. He'd been thinking the same thing in the very back of his mind.

"No, I see no need for you to go," Sherlock said. "But according to my brother, there's no need for you to feel you must stay. I just meant -- obviously this wasn't part of your life plan, so if you want to get back to that, I'd understand."

"Oh. Well, my life plan crashed long ago," John said. "I've got a job. I suppose it's irrelevant where I live."

"Right, but you said you wanted to find love at some point," Sherlock said. "That might be hard to do from Baker Street."

"Let's talk about something else," John said, sipping his wine. "Any new cases coming up?"

"Not at the moment," Sherlock said. "Maybe after you post the one we solved together."

"When can I do that?" John asked. 

"I'll check tomorrow," Sherlock said, remembering his interaction with Lestrade yesterday. "Soon, I'm sure."

The server brought the food and they tucked in. Sherlock couldn't deny that it was quite good, and he ate more than he'd expected to. He also let himself drink another glass, so by the end of the meal, he was at ease. 

John watched Sherlock as they ate and talked, happy that he looked relaxed. He thought about the money that had just come into and wondered how he could stay so detached through it all -- did he really not feel anything for John? Maybe not. Maybe John was the only sentimental one that let himself believe it was all real. He had let it become real despite what he agreed to at the beginning. When they finished their food and drinks, John paid and stood to lead the way out. "I hope you enjoyed it," he said, carrying the leftovers. 

"I did," Sherlock said. "I think of all the dinners I've eaten paid for by my husband, this one was probably the best." He gave John a wink and then grabbed his hand as they walked.

"Oh," John said in quiet surprise, glancing down at their hands. "Well, I'm glad."

Sherlock walked along quite happily. His brain and body felt quite relaxed actually. His plan had worked -- soon he could expand his business, maybe even grow it enough that John could quit his job and they could work together all the time.

John was glad that they hadn't hailed a cab yet, glad to take advantage of this contact while Sherlock was giving it to him. 

"Want to stop and get a coffee or anything?" Sherlock asked. "I don't know what people are supposed to do on their anniversaries."

"No, I am full from dinner. Do you want anything?" John asked. He carefully laced their fingers, so he wouldn't draw too much attention to the fact that the hand holding was still happening. 

"No, we can head home," Sherlock said. He dropped John's hand and raised his to get a taxi. Once they were dropped off, Sherlock let them in and they headed up. "I feel cold," he said. "I'll put the kettle on."

"None for me, thanks." John hung his coat and put the leftovers away. 

"Will you take those to work or are you off tomorrow?"

"I don't work tomorrow," he said. 

"Right," Sherlock said. "Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will turn up dead, eh?"

John's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Maybe. Who knows," he said. 

Sherlock sat down with his tea. "Shall we have an early night?" he said. "I mean -- I don't know why I said that. You can go to bed whenever you want."

"No, its okay. I think we should," he nodded. "I'm sleepy."

"In my room?" Sherlock asked sheepishly.

John nodded. "Yes," he said. 

"Fine, good," Sherlock said, getting up and taking his mug to the sink. "I mean it is our anniversary, after all," he added with a grin as he headed into the bathroom.

John flushed lightly and shook his head. Sherlock was teasing, that was all. 

Sherlock brushed his teeth and washed his face, but then he realised he didn't have pajamas with him. He went into the bedroom and grabbed some, moving to the darker place in the room to take off his clothes and put on his pajamas before slipping into bed.

John stripped to his usual pants and undershirt, climbing in bed. He turned on his side to look over at Sherlock. 

Sherlock turned off the light and rolled on his side away from John. "Night," he said.

John blinked at the back of Sherlock's head. "Night," he said quietly. He shifted onto his back. The hand holding had been nice. He had expected another kiss. In his head he leaned closer to deepen the kiss and Sherlock reciprocated. He lay in the dark listening to Sherlock's breathing until it slowed and evened out. His mind drifted to the money. He thought about himself when Sherlock first met him -- lonely, sad, and struggling to get by. The money had been everything. And now . . . he sighed. How had this happened to him? He glanced at Sherlock again. He couldn't do this.


	26. Harsh Reality

Sherlock rolled over in bed, grateful to not have been woken by John's alarm. He stretched his legs and opened his eyes. But John wasn't there. Had he gone back upstairs? Had he had a nightmare? Why hadn't he woken Sherlock? He told himself to calm down and listened for noise in the flat. John was probably in the bathroom or making some tea. 

But he didn't hear any noise. He got up and it felt cold, colder than normal. He wrapped his dressing gown around him and went out to put the kettle on and find John. But John wasn't in the bathroom or the kitchen. And then he noticed a piece of paper on the table. He slowly picked it up.

_Sherlock,_  
_I would like to start by apologising for leaving this way. I didn't want to. I want you to know that I will still be available for family functions or if we have to prove anything to your brother -- I promised to help you with this and I will still do that._  
_I don't want the money. I didn't really honour our agreement anyway. I know what the original deal was -- to act as your husband and get your inheritance -- but I got carried away. I developed feelings for you. For real. You're handsome and smart and clever. You made me feel alive for the first time in a long time. You saved me._  
_I feel like I'm rambling, I'm sorry. I won't forget what you've done for me, and I won't forget you. If you need anything official, I'll help. I'm sorry._  
_I love you,_  
_John_

Sherlock stepped back and for a moment he felt like he'd lost his balance. He gripped the side of the table as the paper fell from his hand.

Of course. Of course this would happen. Of course John would leave as soon as he could. Sherlock knew he had no right to complain -- from the moment he'd first made the offer to John, they both knew it was temporary until the money came through. And it had. So of course John would leave.

But why was John saying he now didn't want the money? What on earth was he talking about? Sherlock called out his name to ask, before remembering he wasn't here. John wasn't here anymore. He grabbed his phone and rang John's number, but it went straight to voicemail. Sherlock hung up without leaving a message. He didn't know what else to do, who else could help. He called his brother.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" Mycroft answered.

Sherlock almost hung up but instead he tried to casually ask, "Have you talked to John today?"

There was a silence. "Oh my," Mycroft finally said. "Couldn't keep a husband without having money to hold over him?"

Sherlock hung up. He checked his email, but there was nothing from John. He even skimmed the front pages of the newspapers as if something there would make him understand. This was too confusing. He knew he'd made some mistakes with John, but he truly believed they were friends. Why would he leave like this? Sherlock finally made a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa before getting up and moving to his chair. He thought about smoking a cigarette, but instead he immediately went to his Mind Palace, letting his mug of tea go cold.

John took a cab back to his old flat. He carried his stuff inside and sank down onto the small bed. He swallowed hard and stood up again to make some tea. This is how it would have to be now. He thought about his promise to Sherlock -- if he texted and asked John to meet him somewhere to keep appearances with Mycroft, how would that go? What would John say to him? Maybe now that Sherlock had the money they just wouldn't need to pretend anything any more. 

Sherlock stayed in his chair until he heard a knock at the door. He was brought back to the room, to the empty room, and rushed to answer, hoping it was John. It wasn't. A man delivered a registered letter and when Sherlock closed the door, he opened the seal and pulled out a cheque for a very large sum of money. He glanced over at John's chair. This was supposed to be good, but it didn't feel very good at all. He moved to his bedroom, threw on some clothes and went out to pay in the cheque. Then he came back to the flat, locked the door, and pulled the curtains shut. He lay down on the sofa and went away into his head again.

John was sitting at his old small desk, drinking tea. He opened up the blog and looked through the latest case. Would Sherlock still text him when it was okay to post it? Part of him wondered what the point was -- there would be no more cases to write up after this. He shut the computer and went to bed. He didn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling, tossed and turned, and eventually just got up to get ready for work. It was going to be a long day. 

He took a cab, realising that he was going to have to start budgeting properly again now that his only income was his part time job. Maybe he could pick up more hours, he would have the time now. The thought made him sadder than he expected. He threw himself into his work, taking patients in so steadily that Sarah stopped seeing patients to work on other things for the office. He didn't mind -- it was nice being distracted. He skipped lunch and worked through until there was no one left. 

"I knew you were over qualified," Sarah said, leaning against the door of John's office. "Are you trying for a record or something?"

John smiled. "I just like to keep busy," he said. "If you need me here on other days, I can work more."

She nodded. "I'll call you first if we ever get overwhelmed or someone calls off."

John nodded his thanks, putting on his coat. 

"Are you hiding from something?" she asked. She sounded like she might be teasing, but the look on her face was serious. 

John shook his head. "No, of course not," he said. "I just miss being busy." 

She nodded, but he could tell she didn't believe him. He said goodbye and left before she could try and make him talk more about it. There was nothing to talk about any more. 

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, a day had passed. He got up, made a cup of tea, and then realised this couldn't go on. He picked up his phone and called John, but it went straight to voicemail again. Maybe John was working today. Maybe that's the only reason he hadn't been in touch. Sherlock pulled the curtains open to let the day inside. He showered and got dressed and then decided to send John a text.

_Where are you? SH_

He sat and waited five minutes for John to answer. When he didn't, he sent another.

_Could you please come back to the flat please? SH_

Five more minutes with no answer. He typed another message and then another and then another. He sent twenty in all and then realised twenty two messages in fifteen minutes was a bit stupid. If John wanted to talk to Sherlock, he would call.

An hour passed and John did not call.

Sherlock realised he was only making himself look like an idiot -- like someone who'd never had and then lost a friend before. Even though both he and John knew that's what he was, he didn't want to look like that. But he couldn't not stop trying to reach John. He needed to understand what had happened. He didn't understand it and he needed to. And also he just wanted to hear John's voice. Just for a minute -- Sherlock was sure it would make him feel better. He had to think of another strategy.

John deleted the calls -- if it was something they needed to do for their deal, Sherlock would have surely left a message. Then the texts came and he didn't delete those. But they did make his heart hurt. He felt bad for leaving Sherlock like that, but the note explained the reason why he had to and even if it took a while, Sherlock would understand that it was the best thing to do. 

John continued to work hard, staying all day in the office and going home late. Sarah didn't question it anymore, letting him come in everyday. Sometimes he checked the blog, but the case went unposted. Sherlock never said if he could post it or not and he didn't want to guess and possibly ruin the case. Besides, if Sherlock was tying up loose ends, John would have no idea and couldn't add it to the blog. The thought made him sad -- he had genuinely been excited about working cases with Sherlock. Sherlock was brilliant when he was working and now John would never see that again. He wouldn't be a part of that again. 

After almost a week of keeping himself isolated, Sherlock got a call from Lestrade who needed some information. Sherlock made himself do some research and answer Lestrade. It wasn't as fun working as when John was here, but it kept him busy and distracted from counting the days away from John. At least temporarily. Somehow he still found himself occasionally looking at their wedding pictures. And remembering. He was doing a lot of remembering.


	27. Mrs Hudson's Intervention

Sherlock was lying on the sofa when he heard a knock at the door. He got up too eagerly and when he opened the door to see Mrs Hudson, he knew his face revealed his disappointment. He stepped back to let her in, trying to be normal.

"Where's Doctor Watson?" she asked. "I've not seen you two for days."

"At work," he lied, focusing on the floor in front of him.

"I was wondering if you two wanted to come down for dinner tomorrow," she said.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Maybe. I don't know. I'll have to check. Maybe."

She looked closely at him. Something was going on. "All right," she said. "Just let me know."

She left and Sherlock sat down. This was getting to be too much. Something had to be done. He picked up his phone.

_Some complications with my brother. Can we meet? SH_

John was on his way home from work when he got Sherlock's text. He stared at it for a long time. He had promised to keep helping, but his stomach twisted with nerves. It had been a while week of no contact. He took a deep breath. 

_Okay. Where? -JW_

Sherlock thought carefully for a moment.

_You can come home or if it's easier, the coffee shop near the hospital will also work. SH_

John thought about going to the flat, sitting his chair in the space he shared with Sherlock. 

_The coffee shop, please. I can head there now. -JW_

That hadn't been Sherlock's preference, but it was fine. He could figure out how precisely to play this on the way over.

_See you soon. SH_

John changed his route and headed for the little cafe, his hands opening and closing as he walked. He didn't know what he would say. There was no way they could kiss now, but he couldn't help thinking about that. 

Sherlock saw John through the glass of the coffee shop. He smiled -- just seeing him made him feel…he wasn't sure what the right word was but he knew it was the best feeling he'd had in days. He opened the door and moved to the counter, getting himself a cup. He also bought a pastry for John which he brought with him to the table.

"Hello," he saw a bit awkwardly as he sat down.

John shifted in his seat and offered Sherlock a small smile. "Hi," he said, holding his cup with both hands. 

"Good to see you," Sherlock said. "It's been . . . unusual without you at the flat."

John shook his head. "You know why," he said quietly. "It's just too hard."

"I'm not entirely sure I understand," Sherlock said. "But I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm sorry." He sat quietly for a moment. Then he put his mug down and stood up. "I'm sorry," he said again. He looked at John's face and said, "Take care of yourself." And then he turned to leave. 

John turned to watch Sherlock go. He almost called him back, but his breath caught and he stopped himself. There was nothing to say to him. If Sherlock read the letter then he knew why going back would be hard for John. And now he had proof: they had openly talked about the letter and Sherlock hadn't mentioned his own thoughts about it. His own feelings about John or any of it. Any dream that Sherlock would come around was lost for good. John sighed and then got up to leave.

Sherlock pouted his way back home. He'd seen John and heard his voice, but now that they'd parted, he felt upset again. Why was John messing around with him like this? Of course, Sherlock had no reference point but he almost felt like his heart was breaking. But that was stupid. All of this felt so stupid. 

As he stomped upstairs to the flat, Mrs Hudson came out.

"I thought John would be with you," she said. "Did you ask him about tomorrow?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said going into the flat but leaving the door slightly open.

Mrs Hudson understood his code. She knew Sherlock was not very good with feelings -- she'd been surprised he'd made it through this far without needing a little help. She followed him upstairs.

"What's wrong?" she asked, moving to the kitchen to make them tea.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, taking off his coat and flopping onto the sofa.

"And where's John?" she asked tentatively. "Is he working late?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a few moments. 'I don't think John lives here anymore," he said. Saying it aloud like suddenly made Sherlock so sad. The sadness overwhelmed him actually and he began to cry, lifting his hand to his face to hide his tears.

Mrs Hudson came in with the tea. She noticed Sherlock's crying and tried hard to pretend she didn't see it. "All couples have arguments," she said.

A few minutes later Sherlock said, "We weren't a couple."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He sat up and took a drink of tea. "I could not get my inheritance without being married so John agreed to help me out. We've passed the test and I've got my money, so he's decided there's no reason for him to live here anymore."

"I see," Mrs Hudson said. In truth that made quite a bit of sense -- Sherlock's getting married had been quite a surprise. "And you -- you agree there's no reason for him to live here anymore?"

Sherlock was staring out into nothing. He couldn't bring himself to look over at her. "Logically, I don't see any reason for him to stay . . ."

"Logically, you both are probably right," she said. "Yet there's something else, isn't there?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Something besides logic," she said. "And I have a feeling this is the first time you've ever had to face it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"You do," she said. "I can read you like you read others."

"You mean friendship?" Sherlock asked, thinking of the moment before the wedding when he'd thanked John for being his friend. It was true -- that's what he'd felt for John and it had been the very first time he'd ever felt something like that. Another tear fell from his eye and he quickly brushed it away.

"No -- I mean love."

"Love?" Sherlock said. "What on earth --"

"Stop talking and listen, Sherlock," she said. "I know you. I've known you for a long time, I know how you are. Since John's been here . . . I'm telling you, Sherlock, you are in love."

"No, I'm not," he said defensively.

"Yes, you are," she stated. "I don't even care that you want to call it friendship -- love is also a friendship. But what you feel . . . it's bigger, isn't it?"

Sherlock paused for a moment and ran his hand over his face. "I have no idea," he confessed. "I know what I feel, but I don't know how to name it."

She let him sit in silence for a moment, to process it all. It was almost as if she could see the inner working of his brain -- the confusion on his face made her heart ache a little as she prayed he would figure it out.

"Well, it doesn't matter," he finally said. "Because John doesn't love me back and he doesn't want to live here anymore. We were business partners -- that was the deal we made -- not a couple."

"You were a couple," she said. "I know couples and you were a couple."

"Then why did he leave?" Sherlock asked desperately.

"What reason did he give?"

"He wrote a stupid letter -- just got out of bed in the middle of the night and left me there alone," he said. "When I woke up all that was left was a stupid letter."

Mrs Hudson raised her eyebrow at the mention of sharing a bed, but she didn't give in to temptation and ask for clarification. Instead, she asked, "What did the letter say?"

"That he'd got 'carried away'," Sherlock explained. "What does that even mean?"

She sat forward a little. "What else, Sherlock? Be precise."

"He said he had feelings for me," Sherlock said and then stopped and looked over at her. "What do you think he meant by that?"

She smiled smugly. "You tell me."

"Mrs Hudson, stop being foolish," he said. "John couldn't love me -- you know how I am. He knows how I am, he saw it all. He knows I have no experience with all this and one night he got so angry with me, he refused to come to bed." He took a sip of tea. "John Watson couldn't possibly love me."

She took a deep breath. "Since, as you say, you are rather inexperienced in these matters," she said. "Perhaps I should have a look at the letter?"

"Fine," he said, pulling it out of his wallet where he'd kept it since the day John left. He hadn't been able to read it again, but somehow having John's words -- even these words -- with him had made him feel better.

Mrs Hudson unfolded the now rather wrinkled paper. She read it and then folded it back up and set it on the table.

"Well?" he asked.

"Do you love John, Sherlock?" she asked plainly.

"I suppose I must," he admitted quietly.

"He loves you too," she said.

"How do you know? You can tell that just from his handwriting?" he mumbled.

"No, I know he loves you because he told you he loves you."

"He did not!" Sherlock said sharply. 

"Read the letter," she instructed.

He picked up the paper and read the words again. Except this time he could focus all the way through. And that's when he read the note's closing.

_I love you,  
John_

"But why would he leave?" Sherlock asked. "If he loves me too, we should be together. Why would he leave?"

Mrs Hudson set her empty mug on the table and got up. "Why don't you call him and ask him?" she said, patting his arm and then going downstairs.


	28. Love

Back at his flat John lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Seeing Sherlock was hard, but not as hard as he thought. The fact that Sherlock ignored John's feelings and didn't bother with his own made this a little easier. He had made the right choice in leaving. How could he stay in the flat with Sherlock all the time and get over these feelings? This was better. He could get over Sherlock here and then maybe one day they would be able to work together and not have things be awkward. Then again they were technically married, but as John had no plans of marrying anyone else any time soon, it didn't bother him. Following Sherlock's lead, it was just a piece of paper. That was all. And one day they would just be colleagues. As soon as John could make himself stop daydreaming about kissing those full lips or touching those soft curls. Or those nice hands touching John everywhere. He closed his eyes and tried to get the images out of his head, but it was hard when he didn't really want to. 

He thought about Sherlock pulling those clues from what looked like nothing to John, solving cases in a couple days that had taken the police weeks. He watched the Sherlock in his mind crack his awkward, silly jokes, watched him wink at John, watched him easily take John's hand and kiss him good night. For someone who claims to be inexperienced with all of these things, he was quite good at faking it. Then again, Sherlock was so smart John would easily believe that Sherlock had done research and perfected 'being in love'. John was fooled right along with Sherlock's family. 

He got off the bed to find a distraction, anything to get his mind off of all of this stuff when he saw his phone lighting up on his desk. He gazed down at Sherlock's number and sighed heavily. The distraction would have to wait. He couldn't not answer the call after they had just been talking at the cafe. 

"Hello?" 

"I want you to come back to the flat," Sherlock said. "I have a question to ask you."

"Can you ask me on the phone?" John asked, even though he was already moving to get his coat.

"No," Sherlock said. "I need to ask you face to face. At home. Our home."

John flushed lightly and stopped himself from saying Baker Street wasn't his home anymore. "I'll be there soon," he said.

Sherlock stood up and put the kettle on. He looked around the flat and noticed it looked quite sloppy, like he'd locked himself inside it for a week doing little but moping. Which was precisely what he'd done. He tried to tidy up a little. Then he walked up to the spare room and pushed the door open wide. He came back down and stood at the window waiting for John's arrival.

John's stomach was twisting at the thought of seeing the flat again, seeing Sherlock there. He wondered how he could go to war and feel braver than he did in this moment. When he arrived he let himself in and made his way upstairs slowly. The door was open but he still knocked on the frame to announce his presence. 

"Come in, John," Sherlock called. "This is your flat, you don't have to knock."

John hung his jacket and moved into the flat. He looked around and remained standing. "I just wanted to let you know that I was here," he said. 

"I know when you're here, John," Sherlock said, moving to the sitting room with two cups of tea. "It's different when you're here. Everything is different when you're here."

John watched Sherlock, taking a mug from him. "Right," he said, unsure what else to say.

"Sit down, John," Sherlock said. "I have a few things to say about your letter."

"Oh," John said. He moved to his old chair and sat down on the edge, looking over at Sherlock.

"Actually a couple questions -- firstly, while we've not known each other long, we seem to know each relatively well, correct?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," John nodded. He glanced at Sherlock's hand and saw he was still wearing the ring. 

"You think you know me well enough to have feelings for me?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," John said. "I know what I feel." He lifted his mug but didn't take a sip.

"Do you know me well enough to know I have never been around someone who has feelings for me?" Sherlock asked.

"You told me that," John nodded.

"Well, he told you that," Sherlock said. "But I told you I've never even had a friend. And yet you -- became my friend . . . my friend with feelings for me." He took a sip of tea. "I suppose you thought deserting me was what I'd prefer? Is that why you left like that?"

"I left like that because it was hard for me to stay. And I knew you didn't feel the same way and that was hard for me too," John explained.

"And . . . how did you know that?" Sherlock asked.

"Because of our original deal . . . and all the mixed signals," John said.

"I was giving signals? You think someone who has never even had a friend, let alone experienced 'feelings' like this, is aware that he's giving off signals?"

"They were obvious. Holding my hand and kissing me and then . . . not. It was all too random, I didn't know what to think."

"That I liked it?" Sherlock asked.

"But why didn't you do those things when I wanted to?"

"Did you ask me? How was I supposed to know what you wanted?" Sherlock said. "How was I supposed to know?" he repeated more quietly.

John looked down at his tea, his chest very heavy. "Why are you still wearing your ring?" he asked, looking up again.

"Because I'm married and my husband gave it to me," Sherlock said. "You . . . you gave it to me." He took a sip of his tea and stared into his cup. "Why are you still wearing yours?"

John looked at his fingers and realised that he was in fact wearing his ring. He hadn't even thought about taking it off, despite feeling so heartbroken. "Because . . . because I love my husband," he said softly. 

"Then you shouldn't have left him," Sherlock said in the same soft voice.

John flushed. "I thought it would be easier," he said again. "It's awful living with someone you love and not knowing . . ."

"But I didn't know and I didn't think it was awful," Sherlock said. "I liked it when you were here."

"Obviously I liked being here, but I need to know if there's any chance . . ." John took a deep breath. "If not, I'll respect that but I have to protect myself."

"If there's a chance of what? A chance that I have feelings for you?" Sherlock asked. "Of course, I have feelings for you, John. I don't know how else to make that known, and that worries me."

"You . . . have the same feelings as me?" he asked.

"My god, John, I do not know!" Sherlock said, a little bewildered by it all. "I don't know precisely what my feelings -- I've never had to name them -- so how am I supposed to know what yours are to say whether or not mine are the same? Are you deliberately complicating things?" He stood up and moved to the window. "Just come home -- we both liked it when you were here. Come home."

John flinched lightly at his tone, rubbing his face. "I've told you -- don't say you don't know how I feel," he said. He took a deep breath. What would happen if he came back? More sleeping together, more random kisses? What else? Could he handle it?

"But I don't know what that word means," Sherlock said desperately. "You wrote that you loved me but what does that mean? That you want to be around me all the time? That you feel better just seeing my face or hearing my voice? That you liked the kissing part? Those are the things I feel, but how am I supposed to know if those are the things you're talking about?"

"Yes," John said. "It's . . . I'm happy around you. I care about you, what happens to you. I like kissing you and spending time with you. You make me feel like I'm alive." 

"Then why aren't you coming home so we can be like that again?" Sherlock asked. "That's what I want." He looked over sheepishly. "I've missed you, John."

John looked over at him. "I've missed you, too," he said softly. "I'll come home."

Sherlock's mouth instinctively curved into a smile. "Thank you," he said. "Perhaps in the future if either of us is confused, we should just ask the other person rather than pack up and leave? I wouldn't want our marriage to be described by 'rocky' by any outside observers." He was smiling widely now, feeling almost like he needed to laugh to let out the relief he felt through his whole body.

John bit his lip. "I thought it was the right thing at the time," he said again. He smiled softly. "I'll get my things tomorrow."

"Definitely?" Sherlock asked. "Don't joke -- I'm not good at jokes."

"I'm not joking," he said. "Honest."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Good then." He took a deep breath, not quite sure what to do next. He fiddled with his mug and then flattened his hand against it, knocking it slightly with his ring. "What's that noise?" he asked stupidly. "It seems strangely familiar . . . I wonder what it means…"

John grinned stupidly. "I think I know," he said, standing and moving closer to Sherlock. 

Sherlock tilted his head and kissed John's lips. It wasn't a long or rough one, but it felt very different than their previous kisses. It felt better somehow.


	29. Celebration

Sherlock stepped back a little. "What are we going to do now? Are you hungry?" he asked.

"A little, yeah," John said.

"Do you want to get some food?" Sherlock asked. "I could eat a little, I suppose."

"Sure," he nodded. "Angelo's?"

Sherlock smiled as he got up. He took the mugs to the sink and then they headed off. As soon as they got to the kerb, Sherlock held John's hand as they waited for a taxi.

"Can I ask what you were thinking when you were doing this kind of thing randomly?" John asked.

"You mean holding hands?" Sherlock asked. "I was thinking that I liked holding your hand." He smiled. "My thoughts can sometimes be rather simple, you know."

"I wanted to do that stuff all the time -- I just assumed you would too," John admitted.

"I didn't know I did at first," Sherlock said as they go into the cab. "But I know now."

John leaned over and kissed his cheek.

When they arrived, Sherlock led John in. When Angelo came over, Sherlock said, "We'd like some champagne, please, Angelo. We're celebrating." He looked over at John and winked.

Angelo returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "No champagne, I'm afraid," he said, opening the bottle. "What are we celebrating?"

"John and I are married," Sherlock said with a smile.

"Evviva gli sposi!" Angelo said loudly.

They each ordered what they'd had that first night. While they waited for their food, Sherlock asked, "What have you been doing while you've been gone?"

"Working a lot," he said. "Every day, long hours."

"Did you think of me at all?"

"All the time," he said.

Sherlock shook his head. "I can't decide if you're an idiot or if I am," he said.

"I was trying not to think about you," John admitted, sipping his wine.

"Well, that decides it then -- you're the idiot," Sherlock said with a grin.

John stuck his tongue out at Sherlock. "I've already explained myself," he said.

"Well, in future, remember it's me you're talking to because when it comes to feelings, I need a bit more explanation," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I'll try to do better to remember that," he said.

"I was wondering," Sherlock said sheepishly. "Do you think we'll ever kiss without having to wait for someone to clink their glass?"

"I definitely think we will. I kissed you in the taxi, remember?" John said.

"But the driver had jangled his keys -- I thought you were just responded to the sound."

John shook his head. "I just wanted to," he smiled. 

"Right," Sherlock said. "I wanted to while you were away but, you know, you were away."

Angelo came over with the food, and Sherlock picked up his fork to take a bite. They chatted about nothing really -- no longer dwelling on their time apart -- and soon Sherlock's plate was empty.

"I assume you've not been eating much this week?"

"That's my business," Sherlock said. "Are you going to sleep at the flat tonight?" he asked abruptly.

"In your bed, if you'll have me," John said.

"That's a bit forward," Sherlock said cheekily. "I'll see how I feel when the time comes." He glanced over to Angelo and gave him a nod. Angelo waved back and Sherlock stood and slipped his coat on. "Let's walk a bit before we head back," he said to John.

"Is that because you want to hold my hand?" John grinned. 

"No," Sherlock said. "But shall we anyway?" He reached over and held John's hand. "I just wanted a walk, I suppose." He took a deep breath of fresh air. He was feeling a little anxious about tonight -- he'd been so glad for John's return but now everything was different in a way he hadn't expected. He hadn't expected any of this actually. He didn't regret it, not at all. But it was different and he wasn't sure exactly what would happen when they got home.

"You know, I think it says something that the stranger I married ended up being exactly who I should be with," John mused as they walked.

Sherlock looked over. "Do you really believe that?" he asked

John nodded. "What are the chances I'd actually fall in love with a stranger I pretended to marry for money?" 

Sherlock smiled and squeezed John's hand. "I didn't recognise the feeling," he said. "Mrs Hudson had to help . . . it's embarrassing, but true."

"Don't be embarrassed," John said. "It's tricky. I've never been in love like this, but it makes sense since we have so much in common."

"What do we have in common?" Sherlock asked. "Because in some ways it seems like we've got nothing whatsoever. Yet there's something between us . . . I know there is, because why else would I feel like this?"

"Sometimes that doesn't matter, but more so how our differences come together. We both like adventure and excitement--that will get us through a lot. We'll never be bored."

Sherlock smiled and kept walking. "I'm cold now," he said. "Let's get a taxi."

Once they got back to the flat, Sherlock put the kettle on and made some tea. "The flat feels different with you here," he said. "Better."

"It does feel nice being back," John admitted.

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "John, there's something I want to talk to you about," he said. "I want to give you some money. We had a deal and I want to honour that. I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay -- but I don't want that to be a problem between us . . ."

John sighed. "I didn't take the money before because I love you and it felt wrong. But now, now we're together, it can be ours -- I don't want you to give me any."

"I understand, but let's both take some -- we can put it away for whatever, whenever," Sherlock said. "It's just . . . let me do this for you, all right? I made a promise and I want to keep it."

John saw his face and knew this was important to him. "Okay, Sherlock." 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Tomorrow we can open a joint account for the flat and bills and all that." He finished his tea. "Thank you. Now let's go to bed."


	30. Going To Sleep In Their Bed

"I would like to kiss you before we go to sleep," John said as he got up.

"Fine," Sherlock said with a grin. He headed into the bathroom first, brushing his teeth and using the toilet. He wondered precisely what else they might do. 

John took his clothes off first before following Sherlock into the bathroom. As he brushed he couldn't help wondering what Sherlock's limited experience involved, exactly. He played with the hem of his shirt as he climbed into bed.

Sherlock leaned over and turned off the lamp, lying flat on his back with his hands on his chest. "I'm nervous," he said quietly.

"How come?" John asked softly. He didn't move closer yet.

"Because . . . of sex," Sherlock said.

"Have you done it before?"

"You know I haven't."

"Do you want to?" John asked quietly. "We don't have to."

"Yes. I want to."

John smiled softly. He touched Sherlock's chin, tilting his face to the side. He met Sherlock's gaze and leaned in to kiss him.

Sherlock kissed John back. He turned his body a little. "I missed you," he said softly. "I've never slept in the same bed with someone, and I missed you when you weren't here."

John nodded. "Me too," he said, leaning in to kiss him again. This time he pressed closer. Sherlock's body started to warm. He lifted a hand to hold John's arm. He kissed John even harder. John licked out and deepened the kiss, moaning softly.

"What else?" Sherlock said, his body moving slightly against John's. "I want. . ."

"Anything you want explore," John said, kissing along Sherlock's jaw to his neck.

"Could we take off our shirts?" Sherlock asked a bit stupidly.

"Yes," John said. He moved onto his elbow and lifted Sherlock's shirt, fingers grazing his skin. Sherlock pulled off John's shirt and then pressed against him. The feel of their skin pressed together was making him feel unusually good. John rolled to straddle Sherlock's hips, kissing his mouth again as his fingers circled over his nipples.

"God, John," Sherlock said. "It all feels good . . ."

John nodded, moving lower and kissing his way down. "You taste good," he said, biting his nipple softly before kissing it hard. He continued downwards.

"I'm getting…" Sherlock said. "I just…" His hips instinctively lifted up against John.

"Keep talking to me, love . . . we can stop whenever you want," John said softly. He kissed down Sherlock's stomach.

"I don't want to stop . . ." Sherlock mumbled. "It's good . . . I don't want you to stop."

John bit at the hem of Sherlock's pants. "Can I take these off?"

Sherlock looked down. "Yes," he said.

John hooked his fingers into the elastic and tugged, biting his lip when he saw Sherlock's cock. He tossed his pants off the bed and wrapped his fingers around him. "You're so sexy . . ."

Sherlock gasped a little at John's touch. "Am I?" he asked. "You are the only person I've ever met who is sexy." He reached down to touch John's bare shoulder.

John bit his lip. "I'm going to use my mouth, okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Can I watch?"

John nodded. He leaned close and licked out, swirling around the head before sinking down. 

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said, pushing himself up on his elbows. "Jesus. . ."

John moved slowly up and down, eyes moving up to meet Sherlock's as he moaned softly. 

"John," Sherlock called out more loudly than he meant to. He lay back on the bed. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."

John pulled off slowly. "Do you want to? Or do you want to do more?"

"I want to do something to you," Sherlock said. "Can I touch you?"

"Yes, God yes," John said, crawling up to kiss him again.

Sherlock pulled on John's pants. He reached over and held John. His cock was hard and Sherlock let his fingers move up and down the shaft, feeling the warm, soft skin. "God," he exhaled against John's mouth.

"Your hand feels good," John said, kissing Sherlock again.

Sherlock started to stroke John slowly. He kissed over John's face, dropping down to suck on his neck.

"That feels good," John whispered, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock said, "Can we just do this tonight . . . instead of the rest?"

John nodded. "Of course."

"I like it all," Sherlock said. "Because of you." He moved his hand a little faster. 

John kissed his mouth harder, licking into his mouth as his own hand found Sherlock's cock and matched his stroking.

Sherlock started to softly pant as their bodies moved the bed. "God," he said. "Keep going . . . it feels . . ." 

"It's good, hmm?" John moaned, kissing Sherlock over and over as he moved his hand, swiping over the tip.

"Is it all right if . . . I'm so close, John," Sherlock huffed, his hips moving fast again John's hand.

John nodded. "Me too . . . it's okay."

"Faster," Sherlock moaned, trying to keep stroking John but realising he was too close to the edge. "Fuck," he said, softly as he jerked against John, feeling the wetness spray onto his own hand.

John moaned as he watched Sherlock just for a few moments before he followed, calling Sherlock's name as he came.

"John," Sherlock exhaled as he tried to catch his breath. "I never did that with anyone," he said even though there was no reason to.

John pressed a couple kisses on his mouth. "How do you feel?" he asked, petting Sherlock's hair.

"Tired," Sherlock said. "Good," he added, looking over at John.

John smiled and kissed him softly. He climbed out of bed and got a wet cloth to clean them up. He scooted close again, touching Sherlock's chest lightly. 

Sherlock curled around John a little. It was a bit overwhelming actually. "I liked it," he whispered. "Did you think it was okay?"

"Yeah, I thought it was perfect," John said.

Sherlock smiled and pressed a little closer. "And we can do that whenever we want now, because we're married, right?" he asked cheekily.

John grinned. "That's right."

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "Are we going to sleep now?"

John nodded. "We can, yeah," he said. 

"And you'll still be here in the morning?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised. 

Sherlock kissed John once more and then closed his eyes. His brain and body -- and maybe his heart --were exhausted by everything that had happened in the last twenty hour hours.


	31. Waking Up In Their Bed

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he saw John there. John, who not that long ago was a complete stranger, who was now his best friend and husband. He thought about last night and what they'd shared. He reached over and started kissing John's sleeping face.

John shifted and hummed softly. Then he remembered where he was, who he was with. Without opening his eyes he started returning the kiss.

"John Watson," Sherlock said. "It's Sherlock." He climbed on top of John as they continued to kiss.

John opened his eyes and gripped Sherlock's hips. "I know," he smiled, returning the kiss eagerly.

"I'd like to do something like last night again, please," Sherlock said eagerly.

John smiled wider and nodded. "Anything love," he said, leaning up for another kiss.

Sherlock rolled his hips against John. He slid his hand down John's body and gripped his thigh, dropping to kiss his neck and chest. "What else can we do?" he asked.

John bucked his hips carefully, thrusting against Sherlock. "We can go all the way," he said, flushing lightly at the adolescent phrasing.

Sherlock looked up. "Okay," he said softly. "What do I do?"

"Right so . . . have you thought about what you want to do?" 

"Whatever you want to do," Sherlock said. "Don't make me answer questions I don't know the answers to, please -- I just want to do it because you're sexy," he added cheekily. "But I don't have any condoms -- I know we need condoms." His hand was between them now, just holding John's cock.

"I've got one in my wallet," John said, leaning over to grab his jeans from the floor.

"What?" Sherlock said and then took the condom from John. "And we need lube, right?" He pushed himself up and reached for the drawer, pulling out a small bottle. 

"Have you always had that there?" John asked, his curiosity piqued. 

"Well, sometimes that helped when I couldn't sleep . . ." Sherlock admitted. "I never thought I'd use it for this." He moved down the bed and dropped the bottle next to John's legs. "I use my fingers first then?" he asked, analysing the situation and putting it all together.

John shifted and nodded. "One at a time. You need to get me ready," he said. 

Sherlock looked down and then back up at John. "All right," he said. "Just tell me if I'm wrong." He moved between John's legs. After pouring some lube into his hand, he slowly started to stroke John's cock. He felt his own twitch in excitement. "Do you like how I do it?" he asked.

John nodded with a soft groan. "Your hands are perfect," he said.

Sherlock's face flushed. He shifted a little, moving his other hand between John's legs, stroking his balls. It was unusual -- touching another person's body in this way, for this purpose. He let his fingers brush over John's hole, imagining what was going to occur. After a few more movement, he pressed a fingertip inside John, glancing up at John's face to make sure it was okay.

John closed his eyes and moaned softly. "That's good," he whispered.

Sherlock found John's sounds incredibly sexy. "Should I move it?" he asked as he used his other hand to stroke John's cock.

John nodded. "Yes, to relax the muscle."

Sherlock began to pulse his finger lightly. "This is . . . sexy," he mumbled as he watched his hands moving.

"Will you kiss me while you do that?" John asked.

Sherlock shifted and leaned over to kiss John's mouth. "Does it feel good?" he whispered.

John nodded, kissing him harder.

"Touch me," Sherlock said.

John stroked Sherlock, kissing him over and over. His body was hot all over, ever nerve alive. "More now . . ."

Sherlock pulled out his finger and slowly pushed two in. "God," he said. "I can't stand it, John -- I just want…so much."

"I know love, we're almost there," John said. "Spread your fingers . . . open me up . . ."

Sherlock did as John said. He shifted down John's body again, this time stroking himself with his free hand. "I don't know how to put on the condom," he said.

"I'll do it for you," John said.

Sherlock pulled out his fingers and reached for the condom, throwing it to John. "Hurry," he said impatiently as he started stroking himself again.

John sat up and tore it open, rolling it onto Sherlock's cock. "God, I need you, Sherlock . . ."

"Just --" Sherlock said, watching John's movements. When he lay back, Sherlock leaned over him, holding his cock, waiting. "Just push it in, right?" he asked. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, love," John promised.

Sherlock slowly pushed in, feeling John's body tighten around him. "Jesus," he called. "John --" He leaned down and kissed him roughly.

John kissed back just as eagerly, his arms looped around Sherlock's neck. He felt every inch of him as he arched close to his body. Sherlock hips began to rock slowly -- his body took over for his mind and all he could do was be filled with the incredible sensations. His mouth moved over John's face as he panted and moaned. Never had he felt anything so good. John moaned and whimpered with every movement. It was amazing and he said so, kissing Sherlock as his hand carded through his hair.

"John, you --" Sherlock exhaled, grabbing John's hand and pushing it down toward his cock. "I'm close already . . ." John started stroking himself quickly, moaning loudly.

"Fuck, John," Sherlock called, pushing in hard as he came. He could barely breathe as he mumbled John's name over and over. John gasped and moaned loudly, following Sherlock over the edge. He came between them, holding Sherlock closer with his other arm. 

Sherlock tried to calm himself down, panting over John's body. Then he shifted, getting rid of the condom and lying down flat. "God, John," he said. "I had no idea that's what it was all about."

John chuckled softly. He turned and faced Sherlock. "That was amazing."

"It was," Sherlock said. "I can't believe we could have been doing that all along but you kept it to yourself how incredible it was."

"What? Don't you start with that," John grinned.

"Seriously," Sherlock said, pushing himself up on his elbow. "Why didn't you mention all that? Why didn't you try to tell me?"

"I didn't even think you wanted to kiss me, let alone all of that. I wasn't going to just start describing it," John laughed.

"You should have," Sherlock said. "It's quite a good selling point -- perhaps if you had mentioned it earlier, we wouldn't have had to go through all the upset." He stretched a little but curled up again. "I suppose we need to get out of bed soon and go retrieve your things so you'll be home properly for good."

"I suppose we should," John agreed. "I'd like to clean up a bit first, I've gotten messy. You're welcome to join me in the shower."

"All right," Sherlock said with a smile. They made their way into the bathroom, where Sherlock quickly turned on the hot water and got in. "I've never seen you without clothes before," he said stupidly. "I mean properly see you. Even though I did just have sex with you."

"Look all you want," John said as he started washing his body. He helped Sherlock as well, just to touch him again. Sooner than he would've liked, they were finished and drying off.

Sherlock rushed back into the bedroom and quickly got dressed. Then he headed into the kitchen. "Cup of tea then we'll go, all right?" he said as John emerged, dressed in last night's clothes.

Sherlock was just pouring the tea when there was a knock at the door. "It's me," Mrs Hudson called.

"Come in," he said and poured another mug.

She came through and smiled when she saw them both. "You're looking well, Doctor Watson," she said.

"Hello Mrs Hudson," John smiled. "We've just made tea if you want."

"No thank you," she said. "I just came up to see if all was well with you two." She glanced at Sherlock's bedroom door. "I see it is."

"Indeed it is, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said, giving her an appreciative look.

"Good," she said. "Perhaps you two could come down for dinner soon?"

"I think that'd be good," Sherlock said. "We're celebrating."

"Are you? What are you celebrating?"

Sherlock glanced over at John. "Our anniversary," he said.

"Already?" Mrs Hudson laughed.

"Well, it's been, I don't know, ten days? What's the difference -- ten days, ten months, ten years? It's all worth celebrating, isn't it?" Sherlock asked her, though he was looking at John.

"Yes, it definitely is," John grinned. 

Mrs Hudson smiled at them both before she left. They took their tea into the sitting room, Sherlock moving over to the stand by the window. "John," he said, a little wistfully. "You know how some people get married but they don't really love each other? Like it's for convenience or maybe to get an inheritance or something?"

"Yes, I've heard something about that," John smiled.

"Our marriage isn't like that," Sherlock said. "Anymore, I mean, right?" It was partly a question and partly a statement. 

"Right," John smiled. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "I love you."

"Right," Sherlock repeated. "Because I love you, too."


	32. Epilogue: Ten Years Later

Sherlock was standing at the window, looking out into the street. He turned his head sharply when he heard the door open.

Mrs Hudson came in. "You all right?" she asked.

"Yes, of course I am," he said grumpily. 

"You don't sound all right," she said. "Should I make us some tea?"

"I've had five cups already," he said. "I would like a cigarette though."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said, moving to the kitchen. She saw the mugs in the sink and started washing them up. She heard a noise from the bathroom and looked up to see Violet coming out.

"Hello!" Violet called as she made her way past. "Is he still acting like a child?"

"I'm afraid so," Mrs Hudson said, filling the kettle.

"Sherlock, come sit down and stop fretting so much," Violet said as she sat down on the sofa. "Everything will be fine."

He turned to look over and noticed Mrs Hudson with a tray. He moved over to carry it for her and poured his mother a cup of tea. "It won't be if they get here first," he said. "I won't know what to do."

Mrs Hudson smiled over at Violet. "You'll figure it out," she said.

"Think of all the things you didn't used to know how to do," Violet said softly. "And now you do them all very well."

"So you say," Sherlock pouted. His head perked up when he heard a noise at the door. "Oh thank god," he said. He got up and moved to the stairs.

Violet looked at Mrs Hudson. "It's quite sweet really," she said. "But also a bit annoying."

Sherlock rushed downstairs. "It took you forever," he said as he opened the door. "I was worried something had happened to you."

"No, you weren't," John said. "You were worried they'd arrive before I got home."

"Fine, whatever," Sherlock said. "Come up stairs -- Mrs Hudson and my mother are driving me mad." He bent down and said to the little boy. "What did Daddy buy you?"

"I can't open it until later but the weight doesn't match the box so --"

"Hamish William Holmes Watson -- no deducing your gift!" John laughed. "Go up and find your grandma." 

Hamish grinned and ran up the stairs. 

"Happy anniversary, by the way," John smiled, kissing him quickly.

"Yes, well, we'll see," Sherlock said, turning to go upstairs. "I don't know why you thought it'd be a good idea to have other children here." He squeezed John's arm. They headed up.

"John is now in charge," Sherlock announced as they went into the flat. "All questions relating to party details should go directly to him." He moved back to the window to watch.

"What's in the box?" Violet asked Hamish.

Hamish looked sheepishly at John. "I don't know and I'm not supposed to guess," he said.

"Well, you'll find out soon enough," she said. "Why don't I set it over here with my present?"

Hamish let her take it. "But I want to know," he said and moved over to pull on Sherlock's leg. "Can I open it, please?" 

Sherlock bent down and helped him take off his coat. "It's all right to not know," he said. "You're correct that it's very good to be able to figure things out, but sometimes what you don't know is even better."

Violet looked over at John and smiled.

Sherlock stood back up and looked out the window. "A taxi with four children and one woman just arrived, John," he said. "I think I'll go into the bedroom now."

"You will not," he scolded playfully. "Go down and let them in. Hamish, go with your papa and greet your friends." He worked to get the snacks and games ready, double checking that nothing off limits was left out. 

Sherlock held Hamish's hand and went downstairs. By the time he opened the door, it seemed the number of children had tripled. He let Hamish lead them upstairs but the parents weren't interested, claiming they'd return in two hours. He grudgingly walked upstairs. In the minute it took him, somehow Hamish had managed to bring out almost every toy from his room and had them spread across the floor. He looked at his mother who smiled and then at Mrs Hudson who was also smiling. 

"Is this safe?" he asked John, going into the kitchen. "It seems dangerous -- all those children seem . . . dangerous." He picked up a cracker and ate it.

John laughed again. "They're fine." He took the snacks out to them, stepping around the toys to put the food on the coffee table.

Sherlock followed John, standing slightly too close to him. "What are we supposed to do? Aren't they supposed to be doing one of your games or eating cake or something?" he asked.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson said. "You act like you've never been to a birthday party before! I'm sure you had them when you were little."

"I did not," he said. "I never got involved in such frivolity."

Violet pulled a face. "We tried," she said. "But neither of them was interested. But look at Hamish, he's having fun -- that's what matters."

Sherlock looked over at Hamish. He did look like he was having fun. He smiled genuinely and reached over to squeeze John's hand.

John smiled at Sherlock. The kids played, laughing and screaming, while slowly the snacks disappeared. Mostly onto the floor but they could deal with that later. He watched Hamish happily. They had used a surrogate, both contributing to create their son. He had dark curls like Sherlock's, but his eyes were a blue closer to John's. He sighed as he looked around at his family. The last ten years had been a whirlwind -- he couldn't believe they had passed already. 

Today was the anniversary of the day they were married -- they'd been out to dinner when they got the call to rush to the hospital. However, Sherlock was quite keen to celebrate their other anniversary as well, the day they'd met which became the day John had come back home. He looked at Sherlock and smiled wider, pulling his focus back to the conversation.

Sherlock watched as the children ran around and played and screamed a little too much for his liking. His mother stood up at one point and he hoped it meant the party was over, but she was just going over to putting the candles on the cake. Suddenly, Hamish was crying and Sherlock jumped up and moved over to him. "What's wrong?" he asked, bending down.

"Harry broke it," Hamish said. 

Sherlock looked around but had no idea what it was or which child was Harry. 

"I think it's all right," Sherlock said. As he stood, a small ball hit him in the face and all the children, including Hamish, were now squealing with laughter.

John laughed along with them, watching them all surrounding Sherlock and throwing the soft ball at him. He looked completely exasperated and John snapped a photo before he could notice. Then the cake was on the table and the kids were running over, already singing happy birthday while Hamish grinned shyly. John poked Sherlock's rib so he would sing along.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand, watching their son try to blow out the candles. It was all quite sweet, which was something he never thought he'd have in his life. He leaned over and put a quick kiss on John's cheek. Violet and Mrs Hudson served the children some cake, which they immediately made quite a mess of. He focused on his breath, trying not to get overwhelmed. 

Once the children were cleaned up a little, they played a few games. Sherlock tried not to be impatient, but he kept an eye on the clock. The sugar had the kids running wild, forgetting about broken toys and throwing the ball at Sherlock again. They played until the last minute possible before their parents arrived. When they were gone John said to Sherlock, "We should have a few more." He laughed at the expression on his face, kissing it away. 

Sherlock looked over and saw that his mother and Mrs Hudson had tidied the kitchen. He was very glad. He sat down on the sofa and Hamish stumbled over, holding his box. "Can I open it now?" he asked before yawning a little.

Sherlock looked at John and then found himself yawning as well.

"You can open it," John said, sitting down next to Sherlock.

Hamish sat down and tore at the paper. He tilted his small head, confused. "A microwave?"

John laughed. "Keep going."

"I knew it didn't match!" Hamish stood and opened that box as well, finding a smaller one inside. It was a chemistry set with experiments for kids.

Hamish gasped. "Papa! Let's do one now! Please? It's my birthday," he bargained immediately.

"It is your birthday," Sherlock said. "I think perhaps we have time to do one and then I think everyone could use a little rest." He carried the box to the kitchen table and let Hamish pull everything out. Although Sherlock had pushed for a more complex set, John had insisted on the age-appropriate version and Sherlock was glad for it right now. He measured out some baking soda and let Hamish pour it into the little plastic volcano. He picked up one of the small beakers and smiled as he poured some vinegar into it.

"What do you think will happen?" he asked Hamish. 

"An acid-base reaction," the little boy said.

Sherlock smiled. "I think it'll make a mess," he said, giving his son the beaker. "Pour it quickly."

Hamish did as Sherlock suggested, spilling just a little on the table. The volcano erupted with a wet, white lava. Hamish laughed loudly. "It's a mess!" he shouted.

"It is," Sherlock said. "Well done." Everyone applauded.

"It smells," Hamish said, making a face.

"It does," Sherlock said.

"I can remember you making terrible smells when you were little," Violet said.

"Mother!"

"I meant when you were doing chemistry," she said, laughing. She took a few pictures and then said, "You're a lucky boy, Hamish -- with two clever fathers."

"I am," Hamish said. "It's my birthday."

Mrs Hudson distracted Hamish with her present while John and Sherlock tidied up the experiment. "Look!" he said, pulling out a small red dog. "Its name is Telephone!"

Sherlock laughed aloud. All of a sudden he felt so happy. He dried off his hands and wrapped his arms around John. "Let's put him down for a nap so I can have some private time with my husband," he said.

"That's gross," Hamish said, going willingly. "They're going to kiss," he told Violet, making a face. 

John scooped him up. "I'll kiss you too," he said, going so all over his face while the boy squirmed. John put him down and let Sherlock take him up to bed. 

Violet went over to John and gave him a little hug. "Thank you for . . . everything," she said. "He's so happy -- I hope he tells you. You've made such a difference in his life."

John smiled. "Just as he has in mine," he said. 

Sherlock came downstairs. "Why did he call it Telephone?" he asked. "Is it a joke I don't understand?"

Violet smiled. "It's just what they do -- don't you remember your spoon?" she turned to John. "When he was about Hamish's age, Sherlock had a favourite spoon. He carried it with at all times, even slept with it." She glanced at Sherlock. "Do you remember what you named it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"He called it Lamp," she said.

Everyone giggled except for Sherlock. "Lamp was a good spoon," he said quietly, finally smiling as well.

Mrs Hudson stood up. "Violet, would you like to join me downstairs for a cup of tea?" she asked.

"That'd be lovely," Violet said, standing up. 

"Thank you both for all of your help," John told them.

Once they'd gone down, Sherlock said, "I think it was a nice party but can we never do that again, please?"

"Every year," John smiled, pulling him close.

"Do you remember what happened ten years ago?" Sherlock asked.

"I married a wonderful man," he smiled.

"Correct," Sherlock said. "And do you remember what happened five years go?"

"We had an adorable, clever little boy," John said, smiling even wider.

"And do you remember what happened seven years ago?"

"Seven?" John asked. "I don't."

Sherlock stood up and disappeared into their bedroom. He came back holding a small wrapped gift. "Happy anniversary," he said, handing it to John.

John took the present. "Oh, Sherlock, I was so busy with all of Hamish's birthday stuff I never picked up anything," he admitted. "I'm sorry . . ."

"Just open it, please," Sherlock said. "You already have given me all I need," he added, blushing at the sentiment even though it was true.

John opened the gift slowly. It was a scrapbook. He started looking through it. There were ticket stubs, pictures, little celebrations of things they had done together over the years. "Sherlock…I…it's perfect," he said. "I love this."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Because I love you."

John kissed him over the book, holding him close. "I love you, Sherlock."

"Daddy! Papa!" Hamish called from upstairs. He padded downstairs, dragging his toy along with him.

"That wasn't a very long nap," Sherlock said.

"Me and Telephone wanted to see you," Hamish said.

Sherlock smiled and lifted him up on the sofa between them. "Did you have a nice birthday?" he asked.

"Yeah," he said. "What's this paper? Who else had a birthday?" 

"We had an anniversary," Sherlock explained.

"What's that?"

"It was the day we got married," Sherlock said.

"And then I came along?" Hamish asked. "On the same day?"

"Correct," Sherlock said.

"And now we're a family?"

Sherlock looked at John. "Yes, and now we're a family."

John grinned wide, warm happiness flooding through him. "Now we're a family," he agreed.


End file.
